


A Personal Victory

by SmartPeach3



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha Sidney Crosby, Crush at First Sight, Discrimination, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Omega Evgeni Malkin, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25817203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartPeach3/pseuds/SmartPeach3
Summary: Evgeni Malkin is heralded as a generational talent, but when he presents as an omega, his dream of playing in the NHL vanishes instantly. Years later, he meets Sidney Crosby during the Olympic Games in Sochi, and their chance meeting forces Evgeni to reckon with the opportunities that he was denied and to consider the ones that remain open to him.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 74
Kudos: 132





	1. Nice to Meet You

**Author's Note:**

> A month ago, I would have told you that I could never write RPF, but here we are. My muse is a fickle mistress. She is generally absent, but she sometimes appears just to drop a fully-formed story idea into my lap. I assume that the NHL’s restart has trigged her appearance on this occasion, but whatever the reason, I got the idea for this story three weeks ago and had no choice but to write it out of my head. I honestly don't know how long this fic will be or how often I will update, but I already have 20,000 words written that are just awaiting editing. I think that 35,000 words will be a hard maximum, though.
> 
> Also, now that the Penguins have been eliminated in the qualifying round, I hope this fic is a decent substitute for hockey content for all you Pens fans.

Sidney Crosby stepped onto the ice of the training rink just as the Russian national team headed down the tunnel to the dressing room. The ice wasn’t fresh, but Sid would take what he could get. Negotiating training schedules with the other national teams desperate for Olympic glory was already a nightmare, and finding time for a solo skate was practically impossible.

Of course, he wasn’t technically allowed to skate alone. The Canadian coaching staff would probably kill him if they knew, but he was only going to do a few stick-handling drills. Nothing they could call _overtraining_. Besides, at twenty-six he was way too old for his coaches to hide his skates anymore.

As Sid took a few paces to warm up his legs, he noticed a straggler on the ice. He was dressed like equipment staff, but he had the physique of a hockey player. He was tall on his skates, long limbs moving gracefully as he tracked down the loose pucks left in the corners. Sid skated over to him, corralling a puck along the way.

“Those hotshots couldn’t stay to help you pick up pucks, eh?” He called out to the other man, who looked up rapidly, as if surprised. He looked like he was struggling to understand the words for a moment, but then his face split into the goofiest smile Sid had ever seen.

“NHL star all big egos, you know? Forget they just men.” The man’s accent was thick, but the gleam in his eye was unmistakable. Sid had been playing hockey long enough to recognize a chirp.

“Oh, is that so?” Close up, the man was about a head taller than Sid. He had the sterile, almost chemical scent that comes with an over-the-counter topical scent blocker. It was a little unusual for equipment staff or trainers to wear scent blockers, but Sid wasn’t too surprised. He knew plenty of players who used them during practice and on game days to prevent their sweat from making their scents too intense.

“Yes, is true. Sign so many autograph give them—” He paused, searching for the phrase he wanted. “Ah, big head!” He smiled, clearly pleased that he stuck the landing on his insult. Hockey players were always proud of their trash talk.

“Hmmm. You might be right. You ever play? You’ve got the look of a hockey player.” Not to mention the smart mouth.

The other man grimaced a little. “Play until sixteen. I’m present omega then.”

To say that Sid was shocked would be an understatement. Male omegas were somewhat rare, making up about a tenth of one percent of the male population. There wasn’t a single male omega in school with Sid when he was growing up. Of course, he’d met a few of them over his life, but none of them had towered over him like this, and he’d certainly never seen one in an ice rink. There wasn’t a league in the world that would let a male omega play. Which meant, _Fuck_ , that Sid had probably just dredged up some bad memories for the guy _and_ told him that he looked like an alpha.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean. Well, I didn’t realize—”

The man chuckled wryly. “Do not worry, I see on your face. My parents say same thing. How can big, ugly boy be omega? And I present late, surprise us all.” He was clearly trying to defuse the situation, to smooth over Sid’s awkwardness. But his words still hit Sid like a punch in the gut.

“Oh no, I would never say that! It’s just the scent blockers, you know. I assumed you were an alpha, and I shouldn’t have. Please, forgive me. Let me start over. What’s your name?” Sid hoped the sincerity showed on his face.

The other man smiled, looking a little less guarded. “Evgeni. And I accept good, Canadian apology. Is easy mistake.” Evgeni pulled off his glove to shake Sid’s hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sid.”

That introduction pulled a startled laugh out of Evgeni. “I’m stop play hockey at sixteen, but I’m not die. I know Sidney Crosby.” Sid blushed, always a little embarrassed by his own celebrity.

“Do you want to help me run a few drills? Obviously, you don’t have to, but I’d love it if you’d play defense.”

Evgeni looked confused for a moment, and Sid thought maybe he didn’t understand the English. He was going to clarify, but Evgeni spoke up. “You want I play with you?” He looked concerned, like he thought Sid might be tricking him. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. It’s always better to have a skating partner.”

Evgeni smiled wide. “Okay. I’m usually play center. But I change for you.”

Sid soon learned that Evgeni was an absolute bully on skates. Sid knew that he was almost impossible to knock of his skates, but Evgeni gave him a run for his money. His skating was almost NHL quality, and he ran Sid into the boards several times, spouting Russian words that Sid couldn’t hope to understand.

Sid felt a familiar pain as Evgeni’s stick smacked across his shins. He winced, twisting away from the assault, and yelled out, “That’s a fucking slash, and you know it!”

Evgeni replied, speaking English for the first time in several minutes, “Who you talk to, Sidney? No ref here for whining.” Sid had to laugh, unexpectedly charmed.

“Oh, fuck you.” And the game continued.

Eventually, Sid had to call his unsanctioned practice to a halt. He was loath to stop playing when the opponent was so fierce, but he could tell from his already-sore body that he had, in the end, _overtrained_.

“So, Evgeni.” Evgeni looked up, holding a water bottle out to Sid and smiling, probably amused by Sid’s terrible pronunciation. “Can I see you again before I go back to Pittsburgh?”

For the first time, Evgeni looked a little nervous. “You want train again?”

“No, not that. I’d just like to talk to you when you’re not trying to check me into the boards. I thought we could get to know each other. No pressure though.”

Suddenly, someone called down the tunnel in Russian. Sid thought that Evgeni’s eyes flashed with fury, but it vanished in an instant when he turned back to look at Sid. 

“Yes. You want phone number? You can have. But need be patient. My English not good in text.”

* * *

Zhenya could not believe he was practicing with Sidney Crosby. He had body-checked _Sidney Crosby_. _Sidney Crosby_ was accusing him of penalties. He was playing real hockey for the first time in over a decade, and he was playing with the best in the world.

Sid asking to see him again sent a thrill through his body, along with a wave of anxiety. Zhenya did not have a good track record with alphas. He didn’t really understand them. They called him ugly, then demanded sex. They told him he was unnatural, a freak, unattractive. Then they required he wear blockers on the ice because his scent might distract them. Alphas never made sense, and they always found something wrong with him, something to complain about.

But, Sid had treated him well so far. He treated Zhenya like an equal. Zhenya felt more comfortable with him than with almost any alpha on the Russian team, even though with Sid, he was fumbling nervously around in his second language. And Zhenya so desperately wanted to say yes. He was still mulling it over, probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights, when he heard the voice of his supervisor from down the tunnel.

“Hey, Malkin! Get off his knot and get your ass back here. We’ve got work to do.”

That was the final straw. Zhenya felt the usual emotions: rage, shame, pain. But, under those, he felt determined. Sidney Crosby said he wanted to get to know him. He would only be in Russia for a few weeks, until Canada (in all likelihood) ran away with the gold medal. Zhenya was not going to miss this opportunity to feel like a human being in front of an alpha, even if it was just once in his life.

He left with Sidney Crosby’s phone number in his contact list, feeling a little bit crazy and like the luckiest omega in Sochi.


	2. The Luckiest Alpha in Sochi

The Russian team’s elimination by Finland before the semifinals shocked and dismayed the hometown crowd, but it was a boon for Sid. The demands on Evgeni’s time decreased dramatically, which made it easy to schedule lunch around the Canadian team’s practices. Evgeni also proved to be an able host, choosing the restaurant for Sid, who would otherwise have been lost.

When they met at the restaurant, Evgeni still towered over Sid in their street shoes, as expected. Sid was much more surprised to note that, when he pulled Evgeni in for a quick one-armed hug in greeting, the man still smelled like the chemical scent blockers he wore to work with the Russian team. After the usual pleasantries, he couldn’t help but ask about it. “Do you always wear blockers? I didn’t realize.”

Evgeni shook his head, looking a little sheepish. “No. I’m just know you private. This way, no one know you eat alone with omega. Media not find out and make trouble. Girl back home not find out.”

Sid was impressed by Evgeni’s thoughtfulness, but he was eager to disabuse Evgeni of the notion that their lunch date was some kind of shameful secret. “I appreciate that, but you really didn’t have to. My reputation can survive one meal with an omega. And I don’t have a girlfriend back home. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Evgeni looked slightly bewildered at the last part, but he quickly recovered enough to tease Sid. “How Sidney Crosby single? Media love him, say Canadian omega kill each other for chance to have baby Sidneys.”

Sid blushed. “Oh, shut up. Maybe I’m waiting for an omega who knows hockey like I do.”

“Omega who love hockey more than life? You wait long time then. Maybe you just pick pretty one, yes? Easier.” Evgeni bit his tongue while he smiled, clearly pleased with himself.

“Trust me, I’ve tried that. It’s not easier.” Sid winced, trying not to think about any of his previous failed relationships. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”

After they were seated at a table, Sid looked hopelessly at the menu before allowing Evgeni to order for him.

“Is that on my diet plan?” Sid asked, already knowing it wouldn’t be.

“Not worry. Russian food help keep Canadian hockey machine strong. For sure win gold.” 

Sid grinned at that, but then he remembered to be a bit more tactful. “I’m sorry the Russians are already out. Kind of a shock, eh?”

Evgeni shrugged. “Now maybe I watch team Canada, hope Canada win. Talented captain.”

Sid could not accept a compliment to save his life, so he quickly changed the subject. “How long do you get to stay in Sochi?”

“I’m stay for—” He stopped, looking for the words in English. He waved his hands theatrically in some kind of pantomime. “End of games, yes?”

“Closing ceremony?” Sid guessed.

“Yes! Then back to Magnitogorsk. Work equipment for home team again.”

“Oh. Is that close to Sochi?”

Evgeni smiled indulgently, clearly accustomed to tourists knowing nothing about Russian geography. He joked, “Yes, very close. Like Pittsburgh close to Sochi.” 

Sid laughed. “Alright, maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Their food arrived, and Sid watched in admiration as Evgeni slid seamlessly back into his mother tongue to talk to the waitstaff. “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know so much English? I only learned French when I was immersed in it full-time in Quebec.”

Evgeni frowned slightly, but he answered gamely anyway. “In school, I’m think I play in NHL. I get American agent, speak English with him. Then met some Canadians who come to Russia for lockout, play in KHL. They help too.”

Sid was a little stunned. “You were that good, um, before?” He tried not to mention Evgeni’s presentation, in case it was a touchy subject. “You think you could’ve gone professional?”

Evgeni rolled his eyes. “Was still that good _after_. Agent show me video of Sidney Crosby, just fourteen. I’m think I play with this boy. I make plays not like this boy but almost as good. Hockey instincts, you know?”

Sid imagined what life would’ve been like for him if he, at sixteen, had presented as an omega. He imagined hockey, the only thing he had ever worked for, vanishing overnight. The NHL didn’t allow omegas, and it didn’t make exceptions. The league’s rationale had always made sense to Sid. So few men ended up presenting as omegas, and most omegas were too small to play NHL hockey. Their scent might distract the alphas on the ice. They would need separate dressing rooms for omegas when there might only be one omega in the whole league at any given time.

But as he sat before a strong, capable omega who was drenched in scent blockers, Sid wondered if this long list of excuses really justified taking away one omega’s dream. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I would’ve moved on from hockey if that happened to me.”

Evgeni gestured to himself, his goofy smile looking a little self-deprecating. “I’m never leave sport, see? I not move on. Mama tell me is still time to be good omega, settle down, but I not move on yet.”

“You’re already a good omega.” Evgeni’s face brightened in a way that made Sid’s chest feel tight. “You know, in North America, there are omegas coaching in the NHL. Or in management. Or in media. There’s no reason you should have to spend a lifetime picking up pucks in the KHL if that’s not what you want.”

“Is nice dream, Sid,” Evgeni said, looking wistful.

The conversation drifted onto other topics, with Evgeni displaying a robust knowledge of both Russian and North American hockey. Sid, thinking of his grueling game schedule over the next few days, had to excuse himself before the afternoon became evening. As he bid Evgeni goodbye, he leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek and was pleased to see how flustered the omega became, especially when Sid promised to call later.

When Canada finally did win the gold medal, Sid’s mind couldn’t focus on the celebrations with his teammates. He had some champagne, but he kept pulling out his phone, contemplating calling Evgeni. Finally, Getzlaf asked, “Crosby, what is it? Got a hot date?”

Making up his mind, Sid dialed Evgeni, putting the phone to his ear and calling out “Yes!” to answer Getzlaf’s question. He walked away to the sound of catcalls from the team, including some speculation that Russian women finally thawed the usually frigid Crosby. They were almost right.


	3. Trust Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably as explicit as the story will ever be, which is still not very explicit. This is just tagged as explicit so that children won't read it (please, children, don't read this).

_Fuck_. Sidney Crosby was calling him. He had just captained his team to a gold medal, the second of his career, and he was calling Zhenya. _Pick up the phone, you coward. Answer it!_

“Hello?”

“Hi, Evgeni!” Sid sounded almost out of breath. Definitely excited.

“Congratulations, Captain Crosby.”

“Ha. Very funny. I’m calling to ask if you want to come help me celebrate.”

Zhenya’s heart was beating faster than it ever had in his life. “What, team abandon you already?”

“I’d rather be with you. Besides, I promised I would call.” Zhenya huffed a small chuckle. He had gotten that kind of promise before. It didn’t usually mean anything.

Zhenya spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve. “You want I come to your room? In Olympic village?”

“Yes. But only if you want to.”

“You have champagne?”

“Of course.” Sid sounded amused.

Zhenya remembered what Sid had told him lunch before the semifinals. _You’re already a good omega._ Sid had made him feel happy to be an omega for the first time in his life. And he was going to get more of that feeling, as much as possible.

“I’m come.”

Sid greeted him at the door of his room with a glass of champagne in his hand. Zhenya wouldn’t normally take a drink from an alpha if he hadn’t watched it being poured, but he took the glass and drained it. A leap of faith.

Sid looked a little concerned, hands raised in front of him like he was trying to calm a spooked horse. “Woah. Slow down. Nothing happens here that you don’t want. Okay, Evgeni?” God, he was so cute when he tripped over Zhenya’s name.

“You call me Zhenya, yes? Is like—” Damn, how do they say it in English? “Nickname! Name for family and friends.”

“Zhenya?” Sid said, a tad uncertain.

That was close enough. Zhenya leaned into Sid’s space for a kiss, which Sid returned immediately, reaching a hand up to curl around the nape of Zhenya’s neck, playing with his short curls. A few days before, Sid had kissed Zhenya’s cheek, and that sweet, innocent kiss had felt like fire under his skin. It couldn’t hold a candle to this kiss. Zhenya was the bigger man, but Sid’s embrace felt all-encompassing, swallowing Zhenya whole.

Sid leaned back for a breath and dragged Zhenya deeper into the small room, which was outfitted like a college dormitory, with two narrow beds. Zhenya, head foggy from the kiss, started thinking about the logistics of two two-hundred-pound men having sex on a twin size bed. Sid spoke and pulled him from his thoughts.

“No scent blockers today. I like it.” Sid had a small, earnest smile on his face.

Zhenya knew how he smelled. He knew that his scent was too sweet, too artificial. He had been told by countless alphas that his scent just didn’t suit him, that it belonged to a delicate omega. But, if Sid wanted to indulge the omega and shower him in compliments, Zhenya wasn’t going to stop him.

“It’s not as nice as yours.” Zhenya said, sitting on the edge of Crosby’s bed and gesturing for him to follow.

Sid joined him, sitting so close that their thighs touched from hip to knee. “I don’t know what you said, but it sounded like an invitation.” _Damn! Had he spoken in Russian?_

He switched back to English. “Sorry, sorry. I try not speak Russian.”

Sid’s eyes scrunched up in a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s sexy.” And the omega nearly purred.

Then they were kissing again, and it was better this time because it was _more_. More hands, more tongues, closer. And Sid’s hands went to Zhenya’s most muscular places: his biceps, his thighs, splayed flat over his stomach, which would’ve been softer on a typical omega. Zhenya felt almost self-conscious at Sid’s exploration. These were the places that other alphas would not touch.

Their clothes came off quickly, as Zhenya couldn’t keep his hands to himself either. Sid was the perfect alpha from head to toe, and the omega told him so, rattling it off in breathy Russian.

Sid tipped Zhenya back on the bed and buried his head in Zhenya’s neck, scenting deeply while one hand played across Zhenya’s chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed against Zhenya’s skin.

“You’re such a liar,” Zhenya replied.

“What was that?”

“I say you too sweet.” And Zhenya ducked his head into Sid’s neck, scenting him in kind.

Zhenya could feel himself getting wet, and he knew Sid could smell it. He started to turn onto his stomach, trying to bare himself for the alpha.

“Wait, do you mind staying on your back?”

Zhenya blinked back, puzzled. Alphas never wanted to see his face.

“It’s just easier for me to check in with you, since we haven’t done this before. I want to be able to see if I’m hurting you.”

That made sense, but it was also inconvenient. Knotting always hurt, and he was accustomed to biting his lip and breathing through it. He would have to be more stoic this time.

“Is fine.”

Sid smiled. “Good. And I can kiss you easier this way.” Sid blushed at his own words. _Cute._

Sid placed one hand on the omega’s hip, and the other worked between his legs, with first one finger and then a second breaching Zhenya. Zhenya’s pleasure almost snuck up on him, but then he grasped the alpha’s wrist, stopping him. “Wait. I’m come if you do that.”

“Do you want to?”

“Not yet. Wait for you be in me.” Sid looked a little overwhelmed by that, but then he rushed to lean over the bed, fishing out a condom from the pocket in his jeans.

When Sid finally entered Zhenya, the omega couldn’t believe how easy it was, how right they felt together. At first, the alpha was probably too gentle, but Zhenya soon grabbed his hip, urging him onward. Sid reached a hand between them, wrapping it around Zhenya’s cock. The omega gasped in both pleasure and surprise. That was another place that alphas didn’t touch, hating to be reminded of the fact that Zhenya was a freak of nature, an omega with the body of an alpha.

So unused to the sensation, Zhenya came almost embarrassingly quickly. Sid, spurred on by the scent of the omega’s release, thrusted faster, and Zhenya felt the knot expanding just outside his opening.

_Here it comes._ Zhenya scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for the stretch and burn. He always hated this pain, the inevitable accompaniment to the alpha’s pleasure.

But then, he felt the alpha’s body go still above him, and Sid groaned into his neck. Looking down, Zhenya saw the alpha’s hand squeezed around his own knot, providing the pressure without locking inside the omega.

“Sid? Sid, you not knot me?”

Sid looked up, looking dazed and thrilled. “Sorry, did you want it? I’ve never been with a male omega, but I’ve heard it hurts a lot outside of heat.”

Zhenya was baffled. How did this North American alpha know more than he did about his own body? Where was that chapter in the health textbooks from his school days? Zhenya had asked his doctors about the pain. He’d asked what he could do to enjoy sex with alphas. They had no insight.

Zhenya patted his alpha’s shoulder and then brushed his hand over the alpha’s soft curls. “No, no. You right. Thanks.”

Sid nuzzled his head again in Zhenya’s neck, seemingly intoxicated by the omega’s scent.

“You’re amazing, Zhenya.”

Zhenya looked at the ceiling, blanketed by the alpha, thinking for the first time that his body might not be a mistake.


	4. A Stupid Idea

Sid woke before Zhenya, the omega’s head pillowed against his chest and blankets thrown off in all directions. He glanced over at the alarm clock, which told him that he only had a few hours before the team would leave for the airport. Zhenya might stay in Sochi until the closing ceremony, but the NHL wanted its players back immediately to resume the regular season schedule.

He didn’t want to think about leaving, not after one of the greatest days of his life. Forget about Vancouver and the Golden Goal. Sochi had exceeded every expectation.

Zhenya started to stir and threw an arm over Sid’s stomach.

“Zhenya? Are you awake?”

The omega nearly growled. “Too early to English.”

Sid nearly laughed. Clearly, Zhenya was not a morning person. “Oh, I see. Well, the team bus leaves in two hours. I have to get up.”

Zhenya glanced up at Sid, opening one eye very narrowly. “We sleep late?”

“Not too late. But, I hate to tell you, this place isn’t outfitted like the hotels the NHL puts us in. There’s no room service. If I want coffee, I have to go get it myself. And I’ll need a shower.”

That statement resulted in another chorus of groans from Zhenya, but he sat up, freeing Sid. He looked suddenly self-conscious, eyes darting to his clothes on the floor and then back to Sid. Sid leaned over and placed a kiss on the omega’s shoulder before getting out of bad and scooping up his own forgotten clothes. He tossed Zhenya some boxers so they could both be at least partially clothed.

“So, I don’t normally…” Sid hesitated.

Zhenya’s face scrunched up at Sid’s awkwardness. “Fuck omega, then leave?” He said it with a matter-of-fact tone, completely free of bitterness.

Sid winced anyway. _That was awfully direct._ “Well, yes. I was raised with better manners than that.”

Zhenya, all limbs in just his boxer shorts, sat back on the bad, looking up at Sid. “Is no problem. I’m know what happen when I’m come here.”

Sid sighed. He wasn’t expressing himself well. “What I’m trying to say is that I think we have a connection, and I’d like to keep in touch with you.”

The omega stared at him like Sid had lost his mind. “In Russian, we say you knot-crazy. But you not even knot me, so just crazy I’m thinking.”

“Hey, I don’t think—”

“No, you crazy if you want go back NHL, have pen pals with, with блядь from Magnitogorsk!”

Sid didn’t fully understand, but he could tell Zhenya was agitated. He held up his hands, placating. “Wow, you really do lose your English in the morning. It’s not that much of a commitment. If you get sick of me texting or calling, just say the word, and I’ll stop. I just think that there’s something between us. Don’t you think we would’ve been friends in the NHL?” Sid smiled weakly. “Or rivals, if you’d been too good, eh?”

Zhenya looked appeased, rising from the bed. He gave Sid a short, chaste kiss and then pulled back to look him in the eye. “Okay. We can do. But you know is stupid. We not friends. We not go two weeks in same town without fuck. This sound like friends?”

Sid shrugged. “Fine, so you don’t like labels. I just want to see what happens.”

Evgeni patted Sid’s hip and then walked past him toward the bathroom, shaking his head a little, clearly dubious about the whole proposition. “Knot-crazy. And I shower first, you can go to bus smell bad.”

It still felt like a victory to Sid.

  


On the plane, Sid nearly fell into his seat next to Kunitz. He immediately tried to hide in his hoodie, hoping to sleep for the whole flight.

“Did you not get enough sleep last night, Sid?” Chris said, voice teasing.

“Knock it off, Kuni.”

“Weber told me you sexiled him last night, and I almost couldn’t believe it. That doesn’t sound like my captain.”

Sid sighed, emerging from his hood. He clearly wasn’t going to be allowed to sleep when his teammate could get a few chirps in. To be fair, Chris was right. Sid was usually too courteous to kick his roommates out just so he could get laid. Shea Weber was on an exclusive list.

“Trust me, you would’ve done the same thing in my shoes.”

“Oh, was she that good?” Kuni looked giddy, incredulous that Sid would actually talk about his love life for once.

The question put Sid in an awkward position. It seemed disingenuous and unfair to Zhenya to let Chris assume that he was a female omega. On the other hand, it wasn’t any of Chris’s business who Sid slept with, and saying “No, actually it was a male omega” took away a bit of Zhenya’s anonymity and felt like an invasion of the omega’s privacy. 

In the end, Sid took the easy route.

“The best.”

It felt like the whole plane erupted in catcalls and chirps, and Sid again tried to hide in his hoodie. He pulled out his phone, to send one last text to Zhenya before the flight.

_The boys think I’m knot-crazy too. I’m never going to live this down._

The response came quickly.

_They rite fly safe ))))))_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> блядь = bitch, slut, promiscuous person (according to the internet. I don't speak Russian, clearly)


	5. Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We begin to see more from Zhenya’s perspective in the second half of this chapter, and the tone gets a bit darker. As a male omega, Zhenya receives a lot of conflicting messaging about his role in life, his duties to his family, beauty standards, his attractiveness to alphas, etc. As a result of internalizing all of these messages, his thought process is somewhat internally inconsistent, and his self-esteem has taken a hit.
> 
> Furthermore, the opinions of any assholes in this fic are not the opinions of the author. I just want Zhenya (and you!) to be happy.

Sid sat in his stall with half his gear on before practice, phone in hand.

_Did you see the game from last night?_

Sid waited patiently for Zhenya’s response. It always took the omega a long time to text in English, but his messages were usually worth the wait. 

_Yes Sid I see you three points. Not impressed until see hat trick._

Sid smirked. Only Zhenya could find a way to chirp him for a three-point game.

_You think you could do better?_

Another delay.

_Yes I’m shoot puck. Sidney Crosby just pass. You give Rocket Richard to Ovechkin like gift._

Suddenly, Flower lunged for Sid’s phone, but Sid snatched it away, his reflexes even faster than the goalie’s. Flower threw up his hands in defeat, all drama.

“C’mon, Sid! Who are you texting? You’ve been smiling at your phone all morning. You have a new best friend? Don’t lie to me. I can tell it’s not Mario.”

Kuni spoke up from across the locker room. “It’s like I’ve been telling you, Flower. Sid fell in love in Sochi. I’m not asking any questions because it has clearly given him superpowers. The man’s possessed.”

Even the media had noticed that Sid’s game had improved since Sochi. Already having one of the best seasons of his career before the Olympic break, Sid had since managed four three-point games in March and was distancing himself from the pack in the race for the NHL’s scoring title. 

Flower was not so easily appeased. “Kuni, where’s your sense of romance? You tell me Sid is in love, but you only care about some trophy?” The goalie turned his attention to Sid, who had put his phone away and was readying himself for practice. 

“You know, Sid, it’s against the law to keep secrets from your best friend. Kuni keeps saying you have an omega, and here I am, left completely in the dark.” Flower turned the full force of his puppy-dog eyes on Sid, who sighed deeply.

“I’m not keeping any secrets from you,” he said, shrugging into his practice jersey. “Kuni’s reading into things that aren’t there. All I got in Sochi was a gold medal.”

Flower eyed him skeptically. “I can tell you’re lying. You sound just like you do in interviews. Bland hockey player, nothing exciting going on.” Flower put on his best Sid-the-hockey-robot voice. “We just gotta focus on our game. None of us care about individual awards. I’m just happy to do what I can for the franchise.” 

Sid gave him a shove, and Flower danced away from it.

“We can all tell you’re happy, Sid. Just admit it.”

Sid gave up. “Fine, I have a small, manageable crush on an omega I met in Sochi. Better?”

Flower flashed his famous blinding smile. “Much better. See, you just needed a little push.” He crowded into Sid’s space. “Now, show me photos and tell me all about her.”

Sid grimaced. “It’s not like that. Listen, this omega—” Fuck it. He couldn’t dance around it forever. He spoke again, this time softly so only Flower could hear. 

“ _He_ just doesn’t seem as interested as I am. I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s humoring me.”

The goalie looked momentarily surprised by the change of pronouns, but he recovered quickly. He spoke quietly in return, and, thankfully, the rest of the team had started to wander out to the ice for practice, leaving the room mostly empty.

“He’s humoring you by texting you at all hours of the day? Yes, that makes lots of sense.” The sarcasm was almost palpable.

Sid rubbed a hand across his face. “I don’t know. He said from the beginning that the long-distance thing was stupid—”

“Of course it’s stupid! You’re texting a boy halfway around the world when Pittsburgh is full of omegas. There are probably twenty women here today just to watch you _practice_. Love is stupid!” Flower interjected.

“—and he won’t really answer any questions about his personal life. He’ll talk about hockey all day, or he’ll talk about my family. But, he always changes the subject when I ask about his job or his parents. He’s shutting me out, Flower, and it’s just not going to work out. I can already feel it slipping away.”

Sid felt a modicum of relief after stating his fears aloud. It was nothing but the truth; this _relationship_ , if it could even be called that, was doomed from the beginning. The worst part was that Sid had known all along that he was setting himself up for heartbreak.

Flower looked at him with pity clear in his eyes. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you’re thinking, Sid. And if it doesn’t work out, you’ll have good memories anyway, right? Kuni said you were practically drooling over this guy.”

“Oh, Flower, you have no idea. He’s gorgeous.”

“See? Chin up! If it works out, you have a beautiful omega, and if it doesn’t, you can cry about it to your Art Ross trophy. C’mon, let’s practice! Who is this new Sidney Crosby that can’t focus on his hockey?”

* * *

Loath though he was to admit it to himself, Evgeni Malkin had a huge problem. He had a crush on Sidney Crosby. And it wasn’t a celebrity crush. It was a full-blown, ridiculous schoolboy crush, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He had returned to Magnitogorsk determined to forget he had ever met Sidney Crosby. He was a grown man with bills to pay, his aging parents relying on his meager income. He did not have time to indulge in foolish fantasies about hockey players thousands of miles away.

And every year, the bills were getting harder to pay. His salary hadn’t seen a raise in years, and there was no room for promotion as far as Metallurg Magnitogorsk was concerned. The team owners were willing to pay an omega to do cheap labor cleaning jerseys and pads, but the equipment managers were exclusively alphas.

His mother had noticed his daydreaming, the way his thumbs hovered over the keyboard of his phone a little longer as he tried to puzzle through the English, and she frequently pulled him back into reality. Today, as he chirped Sidney before his morning practice, was no exception.

“Zhenya, help me get dinner on the table. It’s nearly seven. You know your father doesn’t like to eat late.” She called from the kitchen.

“Yes, mama.” He rose from his seat, sliding his phone into his pocket.

Her tone was full of judgment as she spoke. “Please tell me you’re messaging an alpha. A rich one.” Zhenya rolled his eyes. She would never believe the truth.

She continued. “Don’t make that face at me. The least you could do is marry well, and you’re running out of time. You’ll be twenty-eight, Zhenya!” She thrust some plates into his hands, ushering him toward the table again. “You’re not just playing with your own life. You think you can take care of your father and me on your paycheck alone?”

He did think that once. When he was a fifteen-year-old prodigy, a _generational talent_ , he had really thought he could single-handedly lift his family out of poverty. He wanted to be that sports cliché, the athlete who bought his mama a house.

When he presented as an omega and the doctors said they could not cure him, he had asked a priest just _why_ God would take all those dreams away. The answer? Zhenya had too much pride in his talent, and God had humbled him. So, Zhenya lost his faith along with hockey.

“Mama,” he said, setting the table, “Do you think it’s easy to find an alpha, looking like I do?” He gestured at his large frame. He had gotten that complaint before, from a boyfriend that had lasted just a few months. Zhenya was too big, and it was emasculating. No self-respecting alpha would feel comfortable next to him.

She leveled him with a fierce glare. “I think your looks have nothing to do with it. It’s your attitude keeping the alphas away. You still act like the boy you were before you…well, before it happened.” She still wouldn’t mention his presentation, like it was lewd.

“That’s because I am that boy! It’s the rest of the world that changed. I had a heat, mama, not a lobotomy. I can’t just think like a perfect omega!” He rarely yelled like this. It never solved anything.

She cringed at the word “heat,” as if she hadn’t had them her whole life. It was only _his_ body that was disgusting.

“You’re excused from the table. You can eat in your room.”

“Yeah, I saw that coming.” He stormed off. He was still a child in his parents’ home, someone his mother could put in time out. But he was also stuck, with no one willing to rent to a single omega.

The conversations with his mother had only gotten nastier over the last year, desperate as she was to see him married before he turned thirty. His tumultuous family life was just one reason he found such solace in Sid’s texts.

He nearly fell into bed, pulling out his phone to scroll through his old conversations. Sid, amazingly, always wanted to talk with him about hockey. Zhenya had not been asked his opinion about a game or a player or a blown call in over a decade, but Sid asked nearly every day. It was like a drug to the omega. Sure, sometimes Sid would try to ask about work or family, just brushing up against the sensitive places in Zhenya’s psyche. But it was so easy to divert his attention, to say “Everything is fine here. How was your road trip? How is your sister?” Sid was too polite to pry, and he didn’t deserve to be burdened with Zhenya’s life, which only ever seemed to vacillate between the mundane and the truly grim.

No, Sid didn’t need to hear that his mother was pressuring him to marry the old grocer who had a taste for omega men and sent shivers down Evgeni’s spine every time he did the shopping. And Sid didn’t need to hear that his boss, the equipment manager, had asked Zhenya to shave his legs or keep them covered, telling him to have some respect for his appearance. Zhenya wanted to keep his conversations with Sid hermetically sealed, free from the negative thoughts that haunted him throughout the day. If that caused Sid to see him simply as the goofy guy he slept with once on a whim, it was better than crushing their friendship under the weight of Zhenya’s lived reality.

Zhenya closed his messages and started to browse the web. Absurdly, he had begun to follow the Penguins’ social media accounts. He was willing to struggle through posts in his second language on the off chance that the team would post a photo of Sid from practice, his face scrunched up in that ridiculous smile of his.

The team’s most recent tweet featured five gorgeous women, smiling wide and decked out from head to toe in Penguins apparel, including knit hats with little pom-poms on the top. They were squeezed in closely for the picture, a few raising drinks like they were toasting their happiness. The caption:

_Pens wives and girlfriends had great seats at last night’s home game, where we picked up another two points thanks to the unstoppable Captain. #LetsGoPens_

Here was a perfect example of why his little crush was such an embarrassing waste of time. In his fantasies of Sid, the alpha loved him and loved his body sincerely, not just for the novelty of bedding a male omega. But he knew from experience that, while an alpha might desire him privately, most alphas would balk at making those desires public. 

At eighteen, he first began attempting to move on from his playing career. He got his job with the hockey team he had hoped to play for, and he tasted a small amount of freedom. His employer required that he take suppressants that stopped his heats completely, but truthfully, he liked them. They turned off the part of his body that betrayed him and that he still hated. Most importantly, he fell in love for the first time, with an alpha college student named Ilya, who had a self-assured smile and who was only a hair shorter than Zhenya.

The knotting hurt, but Zhenya’s doctor told him that plenty of young omegas felt a little pain during intercourse. He just needed to relax, and, with time, it would become easier. Even if it didn’t, it was a sacrifice Zhenya was willing to make to protect the best relationship in his life, since his relationship with his parents had broken down so irreparably.

At twenty years old, Zhenya didn’t see the need to wait any longer. Ilya was about to graduate from university, and it just seemed the way of the world that they would get engaged. He asked Ilya about meeting the boy’s parents and trying to move the process along. Ilya had laughed in his face.

_What do you think this is, Zhenya? You think I’m going to marry you?_ He had looked so incredulous, his handsome face twisted in mockery. It turned out that Ilya had a girlfriend, one who attended the university with him. He introduced her to his parents that spring, a ring shining on her finger.

These “wives and girlfriends” were just like her, petite and blond and perfect. Did Zhenya imagine that he could blend in with them, a giraffe in a silly pom-pom hat? The mental image was so absurd it was almost painful.

And, with omegas, image was everything. In the end, alphas always chose omegas that reflected well on them, whose femininity stood as a perfect counterpoint to the alpha’s masculine strength. Ilya was some nobody from Magnitogorsk, and he was too concerned with the approval of his parents and the community to want Zhenya to be his mate. Surely Sid, an alpha with real fame, wouldn’t risk his reputation over a bulky body who turned heads for all the wrong reasons.  
Zhenya had spent his whole life around hockey players, and he knew them well. On or off the ice, they loved trophies.

Never mind. He was working himself up for nothing. Sid had never given any indication after Sochi that he wanted anything from Zhenya except a Russian pen pal. It wasn’t like Canada’s golden boy really _behaved_ like an interested alpha. Their conversations never even approached risqué topics, and no matter how long Zhenya waited for the near-ubiquitous demand to _send nudes_ , the message never came (a fact for which he was illogically grateful).

Zhenya decided he would be the friend that Sid wanted. He would be his cheerleader during the season and would entertain his hot-stove speculation during the off-season. To hope for anything more would be unreasonable.


	6. Serenely Independent and Content Before We Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was absolutely impossible to write. It hated me, and I hate it. Enjoy!

“He’s friend-zoning me, Flower,” Sid said. He had joined the goaltender’s family for a late dinner after the final game of the regular season, which had resulted in a rather disappointing loss at home against the Senators. He found himself sprawled out on Flower’s couch, drinking terrible beer and moping.

Flower sat on the couch next to him, watching Sid with a pitying look. As March had quickly turned into April, and Sid still hadn’t made much progress with Zhenya, the goalie had become accustomed to Sid’s increasingly frequent maudlin moments. 

“He’s still shutting you out?” Flower asked.

Sid nodded and then let his head fall back, his gaze rising to the ceiling.

It was becoming disheartening. The omega occasionally shared small details from his life, each time giving Sid false hope that he might finally be lowering his emotional shields. In one of these fleeting unguarded moments, Zhenya revealed that he had worn number seventy-one as a player because it was the reverse of Valeri Kharlamov, his favorite player from childhood. In all honesty, that piece of personal trivia was pretty pedestrian for a hockey player, but Sid was ecstatic, feeling like he’d made a breakthrough. Until that point, Zhenya had avoided discussing his childhood or had spoken of it distantly, like it had happened to another person in an alternate reality. 

Later, and nearly unprompted, the omega mentioned that he had pierced his own ear at age seventeen but never wore an earring. In his excitement at hearing a real, personal detail from Zhenya, Sid had quickly and artlessly tried to engage him on the subject, texting, “A fit of teenage rebellion, eh?” Zhenya, possibly spooked, had not returned the text for days.

The pattern continued in the same manner. Step 1: Zhenya would relax into glibness. Step 2: Sid would try to engage him. Step 3: Zhenya would retreat. It wasn’t a sustainable cycle, at least for Sid’s nerves. He was becoming frustrated, and it was affecting his game. He found himself heading into the playoffs with a five-game scoring drought, and he desperately needed to get out of his own head if he was ever going to break it.

Flower spoke up, pulling Sid out of his own spiraling thoughts.

“You can’t just wait forever, Sid. You might have to do the adult thing—” Sid groaned here, and Flower patted his shoulder sympathetically before he continued, saying, “—and tell him how you feel. Or ask him how he feels. Or really do anything at all to open a line of communication about something other than hockey. Let him know that you need more from this relationship than banter and chirps.”

“It’s cute though,” said Sid, still cheerless.

Flower, always a patient friend, rubbed Sid’s shoulder again, saying, “I’m sure the chirps are very cute.”

Sid nodded, eyes still glued to the ceiling above him, though it held no answers. 

Flower was right. It was time, to borrow a metaphor from a different sport, for a Hail Mary pass. He needed to push Zhenya, to demand some emotional intimacy from the omega, and, if that failed, to completely dissolve their acquaintance.

Before he could lose his nerve, he hastily pulled out his phone. Without bothering to check the time in Magnitogorsk, he typed out a message.

_Do you ever think about that night in Sochi?_

He hit send.

* * *

Zhenya’s plan to set personal boundaries with Sid was, to put it mildly, not working at all. If anything, it was backfiring. Each time Zhenya engaged the alpha in a friendly discussion, he felt himself relaxing more into the conversation, becoming loose and chatty in a way that he had not been since he was fifteen and on the bench with his teammates. He talked about Valeri Kharlamov, his hockey idol. He complained about Sid’s use of perplexing English idioms. _Really, Sidney? How “shot in arm” mean “give encouragement”??? I’m not want be shot in arm._

He let slip his best hockey memories (goals), his worst hockey memories (assists), and his favorite foods. Just to get a rise out of Sid, he even sent a few pictures from his childhood showing him wearing a Bruins cap. _See? Always been big fan of black and gold )))))_.

Much more dangerously, he found himself becoming too familiar with Sid, almost divulging aspects of his life that he would never normally discuss. When Sid talked about his sister Taylor, who was having a blast at Shattuck St. Mary’s and was looking forward to a college hockey career, Zhenya desperately wanted to talk about his brother. Denis, who was just a year older than Zhenya, had cut off contact with them the day Zhenya presented as an omega. Mentioning his brother was an easy way to get a slap from his father, so the name “Denis” rarely passed his lips. And yet, his thumbs nearly itched to type out the story, if only to make Denis seem like a real person again, instead of just a specter from his past.

Eventually, he got careless. Sid, always self-deprecating, had been talking about some questionable fashion choices from his past, namely puka shell necklaces and frosted tips. Zhenya personally thought it was an adorable look, and he said as much, already treading into dangerous waters. Then, in a show of solidarity, he mentioned his own youthful blunder: an earring. Sid was delighted, but Zhenya was shocked by his own admission. That earring was not a simple fashion statement; it was his first concession to the confusing beauty standards of male omegas. Other concessions followed. In some ways, the expectations were the same as those for female omegas. He shaved his armpits and legs, waxed his body hair, grew his hair longer, and wore jewelry. In other ways, the expectations were even more restrictive. He couldn’t wear v-neck t-shirts, which would show his pectorals and draw attention to his masculinity, his wrongness. Perfume was _too womanly_ , and cologne was _too alpha_. Gained weight? _Too fat_. Lost weight? _Too lean, pretending to be an alpha._

He followed those rules to the best of his abilities, and he followed them for years, but it didn’t make Ilya respect him. It didn’t stop his coworkers from making comments about everything from his body to his clothes to his attitude. Nothing worked, and by the time Ilya left him, his hair was short again, he had given up on waxing, and his body was back in playing shape. The earring became the sole inhabitant of his jewelry box, which in turn was never opened.

Sid didn’t need to know any of that. Zhenya was ashamed of that time, when he tried so hard to please society, and to please alphas in particular, and had failed so spectacularly. But his omega side, long neglected and abused, medically suppressed into near oblivion, _wanted_ Sid to know. Zhenya could tell himself five times a day that he and Sid were just friends, but the omega inside him wanted everything from Sid. He already had him as a friend, and he had experienced him as a lover, and it seemed like, with a small push, he could have him as a confidant, a partner. Sid could be his new family, an alpha who saw him as an equal.

Zhenya realized these thoughts were excessively romantic to the point of being delusional. He had teased Sid for being knot-crazy, but the omega himself had allowed a one-night stand to possess him for months, during which time he thought of almost nothing but the alpha. Sid had walked into his life like a fantasy, treating him exactly like he wanted to be treated, with harsh physicality on the ice and with gentleness in bed.

But Sid was not attainable. He was not _for_ Zhenya. Physically, he was half a world away, and, culturally, he belonged to the realm of the NHL, where players kept their photo-ready WAGs at home and enjoyed the company of yet more omegas on the road, a new one in every city. When Zhenya thought about it, he supposed that he was now a member of the latter group. It was a depressing realization.

Zhenya gave up on trying to sleep. If his thoughts were going to keep him awake, he would do something with that energy. He stood from the bed, looking at the glowing digits on his alarm clock. It was not too late. He changed quickly into an outfit he knew looked good on him, tight jeans and a black polo that accentuated his long torso. He opened the dusty jewelry box, taking out the old earring. The cheap metal was slightly greenish, but alphas wouldn’t notice that in dim lighting, and the ones he was looking for wouldn’t care anyway. He slid the earring into his ear, surprised to find that the piercing had not closed with scar tissue in the last seven years.

He grabbed his wallet and a few condoms from a drawer in his nightstand. It was late enough that he would need to sneak out of the house, and his parents would be furious in the morning when he returned from his walk of shame. But he needed to convince the delusional omega inside his brain to forget the alpha from a few months ago, to see sense and move on. He had a perfect plan.

  


It was nearly last call when he entered the dingy bar, but that was still plenty of time. It was preferable, even, because the truly desperate alphas would be the only ones left. He sat at the bar and ordered a drink, brushing off the judgmental glare from the bartender, who glanced at the clock, concerned that the end of his shift was approaching. Clutching his drink, Zhenya started his own countdown, trying his best to look small and delicate.

It didn’t take long. An alpha, about five-foot-ten and with a receding hairline, sidled up next to him.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s your name?”

This guy was perfect. “Evgeni.” 

“Zhenya?” the man guessed.

“If you like.” Zhenya was nearly finished with his drink. He wasn’t planning on staying long.

“I’m Maksim. Can I buy you a drink?”

“No need. Let’s get out of here.” 

Maksim looked surprised. “And you’re not…I mean...I’m not trying to offend you…”

_Oh._ Zhenya knew what he was getting at. A male omega out this late, looking for alphas? It was a reasonable assumption.

“No, not a hooker.” He smiled, indicating that he had taken no offense. Statistically, prostitution was the most common profession for male omegas in Russia. He assumed that “hockey equipment peon” was very low on the list.

Maksim smiled back. “Lucky me, then.”

It turned out that Maksim lived very close to the bar, so close that they could walk to his apartment in minutes. The bar was his neighborhood haunt, and he was a regular. Zhenya could have guessed all of that, but he let Maksim talk, if only to prevent awkward silences. He was in no mood to carry the conversation himself.

Maksim’s place was a very small studio apartment in a crumbling building, clearly a Soviet-era tenement at the end of its service life. The quarters were so tight that Zhenya had to wiggle past the foot of the bed to enter the room, his left shoulder brushing the wall. The whole apartment was dimly lit by a bulb hanging in the kitchen, which contained the only other furniture in the apartment: a table and two chairs. To the left of the kitchen was a doorway leading to the bathroom, which doubled as a closet. At the expense of privacy, the door to the bathroom had been removed to allow a curtain rod to be installed in the door jamb, and Maksim’s clothes hung in the doorway.

Maksim chuckled, drawing Zhenya out of his thoughts.

“I know what you’re thinking. Nice place.”

Zhenya shrugged. “Do you think I live in luxury? I live in a two-bedroom apartment with my parents. I’m not judging you.” Much of the infrastructure in Magnitogorsk hadn’t seen repairs since the fall of the Berlin Wall. 

Maksim smiled, appeased. “You want me to make you a drink?”

Zhenya looked at the clock on the wall. It was half past two in the morning. He wanted to decline the drink, get this over with, and maybe have time to walk home before he was too tired and had no choice but to spend the night. On the other hand, he knew from experience that it would be easier with alcohol.

“Sure. Just vodka.” They walked the short distance to the kitchen together, and Maksim reached into a high cabinet to retrieve the liquor. Zhenya watched him carefully as he dispensed some vodka into two glasses, his eyes keeping track of the alpha’s every movement.

They downed their shots quickly, the alpha finally looking eager to continue. He took Zhenya’s glass from his hand, putting both of the glasses on the counter. The tile countertop looked dull and slightly sticky, residue from the unclean life of a bachelor. Zhenya tried not to care. Maksim grabbed Zhenya’s hand and pulled him back into the front room, where the bed lay, taking up the entire floorspace. He crowded Zhenya into the mattress, pushing until the omega sat down, and then leaned over him, using his newly created height advantage.

As Zhenya expected, the alpha didn’t try to kiss him on the lips. However, even before he got Zhenya’s shirt off, he yanked aside the omega’s collar and started to suck a hickey into the place where his neck joined his shoulder. Normally, Zhenya would stop him, but considering that he was trying to teach his foolish omega brain that it did not belong to Sidney Crosby, he allowed Maksim to continue to mark him.

Maksim pulled back, looking Zhenya in the eye. “I couldn’t believe you were an omega at first. I smelled you when you walked in, obviously. One of the sweetest scents I’ve ever come across. I thought it must’ve been some poor thing’s heat still stuck to your clothes.” Maksim moved his hand to Zhenya’s ear, playing with the earring there. “But, no. It was you.”

Zhenya didn’t love hearing that he looked like an alpha. He already knew that. “I hope I didn’t disappoint,” he grumbled.

“Oh, no, not at all.” Maksim’s eye’s lit up with lust. His hands made their way to Zhenya’s thighs, patting the muscled flesh there beneath Zhenya’s tight jeans. 

“How about you take these off?” He rose up, stepping back to give Zhenya room to work.

Zhenya stood, turning away from Maksim and toward the front door to start disrobing. He didn’t know why he was suddenly self-conscious. Something about stripping with the alpha’s eyes on him felt almost like an appraisal, and Zhenya had already explained that he was not for sale. Anyway, he felt more comfortable with his back to the man.

That is, he felt more comfortable until his jeans fell to the floor, pooling next to his shirt, and the room illuminated briefly with faint white light. Zhenya wanted to believe that it was the flickering bulb from the kitchen or a trick of his eyes. But, when he turned around and saw the alpha, phone in hand and irritation on his face, the flash was unmistakable.

He asked, already knowing the answer, “Did you just take a picture of me?” 

Maksim, seeing the fury in his eyes, took a step back. “No, listen—”

Zhenya, not prepared to listen to excuses, lunged forward. He appreciated, for once, being so much taller and stronger than most alphas. Those same characteristics that made him so unappealing to many also made it easy to snatch the phone out of Maksim’s hand.

The machine was incapable of lying. There on the screen was a dark, somewhat blurry photo of himself, taken from behind. It cut off the top half of his head, but it showed the long line of his back, his buttocks, and his lanky, pale legs next to his discarded jeans. Worse, the photo was the last in a series of text messages. Zhenya scrolled up, revealing a conversation that had spanned over half an hour, with some person named Artur.

_You’re not going to believe what just walked into the bar. You’re going to wish you came out with me tonight._

_> >Stop playing around, you know I’m working tomorrow._

_Who’s playing around? It’s this omega, big as a bear. Smells like candy. Would I lie to you?_

_> >Sure you would. When people text me at 2am, it’s either an emergency or a prank, and this doesn’t sound like an emergency._

_Well when I fuck him I’ll send pics_

_> >Have fun getting rejected._

_Oh, I’m not letting this opportunity go. I’m finally checking this off the bucket list._

Just as Zhenya finished reading that text, he received Artur’s response to the photo, the phone buzzing in his hand. Along with the flash, the idiot Maksim had clearly forgotten to turn off the phone’s vibrate setting. 

_Damn, I guess you weren’t lying. Congrats on becoming a man. Those freaks are so much better than women._

Zhenya’s heart sank into his stomach. He threw the phone onto the bed, bending down to grab his clothes. His movements were shaky and fumbling as he started to dress. He could feel tears building, and the stinging pain behind his eyes was infuriating. He couldn’t show such weakness in front of this animal.

“You’re leaving?”

Zhenya looked up, shocked and almost nauseous. “You seriously think I’d stay after I saw that gross shit you said? After you took a picture of me without permission?”

Maksim looked angry, as if he had any right. “Listen, you weren’t meant to see that, but we’re just saying what every alpha is thinking.”

Zhenya shook his head, more to fight back the tears than to disagree. Still, in the back of his mind, he remembered his night with Sid. The way the alpha had held him that night had felt so genuine. Sid had never been with a male omega before. Was he checking an item off his _bucket list_? Zhenya refused to believe that. He hadn’t even knotted Zhenya, even though the omega would have allowed it. Sid clearly wasn’t aiming to dominate him. He wasn’t seeking some demented power trip.

Zhenya finally spoke. “Sorry, you’re going to have to find some other freak for your fetish.” He was glad he hadn’t worn a button-down shirt. He was quickly dressed and ready to leave.

Maksim was furious now, his anger at losing his conquest almost palpable. He lashed out verbally. “You’re acting righteous now? You went home with me in three seconds. You’re a fucking slut.”

Zhenya checked his pockets, verifying he had his wallet, and started to turn toward the door. “Maybe, but I’m not wasting my time with you.”

He could hear the animosity oozing from Maksim’s voice. “Oh, sweetheart, you think you have _options_? Don’t kid yourself.”

The omega grabbed the doorknob, flinging the door open. “No, I have self-respect. It’s new.” _And sometimes inconvenient_ , he thought.

Zhenya slammed the door behind him and walked home, disheveled. His phone told him it wasn’t even three in the morning. The course of his evening had changed so quickly. He had gone into Maksim’s apartment with no illusions. He was going to use this alpha to forget Sidney Crosby, to fuck the memory of his gentleness, his _reverence_ , out of his body. Instead, as he was leaving that same apartment, he could only think of Sid.

He snuck into his family's apartment like a teenager after a house party, feeling at once both sleezy and childish. At least he had spared himself his mother’s wrath by returning well before sunrise. She would never know about his little excursion. And he didn’t need any help feeling bad about himself.

He fell into bed, face down into the pillow, and soaked his pillowcase in tears until his sobbing exhausted him completely, sending him into a troubled sleep.

  


Zhenya would probably have slept forever if his phone had not buzzed, alerting him to a text from Sid at around nine o’clock in the morning.

_Do you ever think about that night in Sochi?_

The question was like a punch in the gut. The timing of it felt like some kind of cosmic joke. The night before, Zhenya had learned the hard way that his standards had been irrevocably raised by that night in Sochi. He wanted an alpha to think he was beautiful and to feel lust for him, without fetishizing him. He wanted an alpha to notice his strength and to appreciate it, without feeling the need to dominate him. He wanted his alpha to be proud of him, without bragging about their sexual exploits to his friends. In short, he wanted more than he could ever receive from any alpha in Magnitogorsk, and it was Sidney Crosby’s fault. 

So, how was Zhenya supposed to answer that question? _You’ve ruined me for other alphas_? That sounded like a joke, even if it was the truth. He didn’t want to be sappy or effusive, which eliminated most of the other declarations that came to mind. He was already too stoic to talk properly about his feelings, and the language barrier further complicated the problem.

He tried to keep it simple.

_All the time._


	7. Explosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time the Pens lose a game, I write a few thousands words of fic. This was one of those times. Also, you wouldn’t believe how much time I spent researching the 2013-14 seasons of the Pittsburgh Penguins and Metallurg Magnitogorsk. I wanted to make sure this entirely fictional account of people with fictional biology fit with the real-life schedule. That’s the way my mind works, and that’s why I can’t sleep at night. ;) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your comments. I can be a bit self-conscious about my writing, and you have been lovely (though, of course, concrit welcome).

Sid blinked down at his phone. He hadn’t even expected to get a response to his text, but Zhenya’s message flashed onto the screen in just minutes, and it was stunningly vulnerable. Sid must have been gaping like a fish because he looked up from his phone to find Flower waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sid? Are you still with me, bud?”

Speechless, he just thrust his phone into the goalie’s hands. “Read that.”

Flower pursed his lips, scrolling through the last few messages and assessing them. “This is good, right?”

Sid threw up his hands. “I don’t know! It sounds good, doesn’t it? I was starting to think he’d forgotten we ever slept together.”

Flower looked at the messages again, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “I just don’t understand…why would you send him such a cryptic question? How is it possible that you say five thousand words a game, but you still can’t talk to omegas to save your life? How hard is it to write _Do you like me?_ ”

Sid snatched the phone back, grumbling. “I’m not going to ask if he likes me. We’re not in grade school.”

“Okay, you’re a big boy. So, what’s your next move?” Flower stared him down, eyes expectant.

Sid stared back for a few moments and then stood, relenting. “You’ve made your point. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I also don’t have to stay here and take this kind of abuse.”

Flower cackled. _Some friend._ “Well, be sure to grab some food from the kitchen before you leave. Vero will kill me if I don’t send you home with some leftovers.”

Sid pulled on his shoes and began to walk toward the kitchen, nodding to Flower in acknowledgment.

“And, Sid, please take my advice, as someone who has been in a relationship for more time than I would ever like to admit. Call him.”

“I will. As soon as I get home.”

* * *

After sending his response to Sid, Zhenya had set his phone on the nightstand, trying not to agonize over it. There was nothing more pathetic than an omega obsessing over his phone, waiting for an alpha. Besides, Metallurg had practice at ten thirty, and he needed to get to the rink. He was lucky that Sid’s text had woken him, considering Zhenya hadn’t set his alarm after his misguided night with Maksim.

Zhenya dragged himself out of bed, quickly throwing on some clothes. He rubbed at his neck, feeling the bruise from Maksim. If his mother saw it, he was sure to get a slap, so he opted for a mock-neck athletic shirt. Luckily, it was always cold at the rink, so no one would question the wardrobe choice.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang. He took a few moments to breathe, then picked up the phone. He glanced at the caller ID, verifying that it was Sid, and answered in English.

“Hello.”

“Zhenya! Sorry, were you asleep? You sound tired.”

Zhenya huffed, amused. _Of course_ he sounded tired. “No, not tired. Just a little—" Zhenya paused, his brain practically turning itself inside out, looking for the English word. Finally, he continued, “—hangover? Is that how you say? Is ten here. Why you not asleep?” Zhenya knew it had to be the middle of the night in Pittsburgh.

On the other end of the line, Sid gasped in surprise. “God, I didn’t even realize how late it was. I saw your text, and…we just really need to talk, don’t you think?”

Zhenya sighed deeply. They _did_ need to talk. That much was obvious. But, what could Zhenya possibly tell Sid? He needed to buy some time. “Don’t know if now is good time. I have bad night.”

Sid, ever polite, jumped into the conversation then. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

Suddenly, Zhenya could hear his mother calling, telling him to get a move on before he was late for work.

“Not worry. Was bad night, but I’m fine. Listen, we talk soon, okay? Know we both have lot to say.” That was an understatement, with the way they had been dancing around each other for months. “Just, I’m have work now. Team have practice.”

Sid hummed, clearly thinking it over. “Alright, I suppose I should get some sleep. You swear we’ll talk for real soon?”

Zhenya’s mother rapped on his door. “Zhenya? Are you awake?”

He called back, “Yes, mama, just a minute.” Squeezing the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he scrounged hastily for his shoes, which he had kicked off carelessly the night before. “Sid, I’m swear we talk. I make you deal. You focus on playoffs, I’m focus on playoff here.” Magnitogorsk was a strong team looking at a deep run this year, so Zhenya knew he would be busy for the next few weeks. “You go try get Stanley Cup, and when you done, we talk, yes?”

Sid couldn’t refuse a hockey-based argument. “Okay. We’ll figure things out in the off-season. You’re not off the hook, Zhenya!” His words were chiding, but he sounded good-natured.

“No, no, I’m want talk. Just not now. Off-season give me time to think.”

“You need more time? I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Zhenya, alone in his room, blushed deep red. “Shhhh. Hush. You make me late. We talk later.”

Sid laughed. “I miss you.”

This alpha really was ridiculously sweet. “Miss you too. I’m hang up.” 

“Have fun at work.”

That wasn’t likely, but Sid didn’t need to know that. “I’m try. Bye, Sid.”

“Bye.”

Zhenya ran past his mother. He was almost certainly going to be late, but his boss probably wouldn’t notice a few minutes.

“Zhenya! Were you on the phone? Who are you talking to that’s so important you forgot you have a job?” Zhenya didn’t have a response to that, so he hurried through the front door. 

  


Metallurg Magnitogorsk was having a truly excellent season, for which Zhenya was grateful. The work was hard, but at least when he was hauling bags of laundry, loading gear onto the team bus, and taping spare sticks, he couldn’t think about Sid. That’s not to say he didn’t keep up with the Penguins’ playoff performance. Their first-round series with Columbus was an exciting one, going to six games.

But sometimes Zhenya couldn’t watch the games. At the very least, he had to mute the commentary. Sid was back on his game, and the announcers were talking nonstop about his Hart chances. Apparently, Sid was the clear favorite to become league MVP, with practically no competition worth mentioning. Sometimes, listening to those commentators, a nasty feeling almost like jealousy would come over Zhenya, twisting his gut. He tried to tamp it down. It was embarrassing to feel jealous over the most coveted trophy in the NHL, which he almost certainly would not have won, even if he had been lucky enough to have a long professional career. All the same, it hurt to have never been afforded the _chance_ to become the franchise man, to become a hero like Sid. What had Sid done differently to deserve the opportunity?

Zhenya berated himself for his bitterness and channeled it into his work. You can’t feel cheated by life if you’re too busy packing duffle bags with hockey tape. At least, that was his theory. 

Besides, the attitude in the Magnitogorsk locker room had never been more positive. The team was heading into the seventh game of the Gagarin Cup Final, on home ice, and they were already feeling like champions. The previous three series had been blowouts, with Metallurg destroying the competition. Watching intense playoff hockey brought the warrior out in Zhenya, and he itched to be out on the ice with them.

Game seven went exactly to plan for Metallurg Magnitogorsk, and Zhenya knew it would take forever to clean the champagne off the walls and floors of the locker room, not to mention the booze and sweat that had soaked into the players’ gear. Still, Zhenya couldn’t help but smile along through the celebration, trying to live vicariously through his team. The boys normally didn’t pay him much attention, but they were in a generous mood after their victory, passing him champagne and beer. Of course, it would be beyond stupid to get drunk around them, especially after one of the game’s goal-scorers, high on his own success, smacked a kiss on Zhenya’s cheek. Zhenya could tell his scent-blockers must be wearing off, if the guys were forgetting themselves around him. He decided to leave the festivities early, before things got out of hand. He could return the next day to help with cleanup.

As he ducked out of the room, the equipment manager, Volkov, stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Evgeni, could you clear out the visiting locker room before you leave? The team’s already gone.”

Zhenya really didn’t want to spend his evening picking up damp towels and wiping down stalls. “Seriously? Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’ve been working since eight this morning.”

His boss wasn’t amused. “Sure, it could wait, but if you’re not going to hang around to celebrate what this team just accomplished, you might as well put some work in. You know damn well that no one else is getting any sleep tonight.”

Not looking to lose his job, Zhenya relented. “Yes, sir,” he said, turning on his heel and heading to the visiting dressing room.

Volkov called after him. “By the way, Evgeni, please don’t let your scent blockers wear off at work again. You need to reapply them if you’re working overtime. It’s about professionalism.”

Zhenya bit his lip to keep quiet, almost making it bleed. The irony of this man, absolutely _reeking_ with alpha pheromones, telling him that his scent was unprofessional was nearly tangible.

The visiting locker room was a disaster, as it usually was after a hockey team rolled through it. As he expected, the floor was covered in wet towels and sock tape, the last remnants of the vanquished team. He dragged a laundry hamper out of a supply closet, bending to pick up the first towel. 

A lightly accented voice from behind him made him jump in surprise.

“You’re not celebrating with the team?”

Zhenya recognized him as one of the players from the Czech team, Lev Praha, but he couldn’t remember the man’s name. He spoke Russian well enough.

The omega cleared his throat, shaking off his surprise. “No, I’m about to head home. Just cleaning up a bit before I leave. I was told that the team had already left.”

“Hmmm,” the other man hummed, clearly appraising Zhenya. “Well, I came back. Forgot my phone.” He turned, snagged his cell phone from inside one of the stalls. He turned again to look at Zhenya, holding up the phone victoriously. “See? The team bus wouldn’t wait, but I can find my own way to the hotel.”

Zhenya nodded, bending to retrieve another towel. He didn’t have all night to chat.

“Maybe you’d want to join me there?”

The omega looked up, surprised once again. He should really stop being surprised by the audacity of alphas.

He shook his head. “No. If you can’t tell,” he said, gesturing to the mess in the room, “I’m working right now. Have a nice night.”

The alpha looked frustrated, and he let out an annoyed huff. “Don’t be like that. I’m having a tough night, and you could obviously use some fun.” At that, the man stepped closer to Zhenya, reaching for his arm, which Zhenya snatched quickly out of his reach.

“I said no. Please leave.” It wasn’t Zhenya’s job to comfort alphas after a loss, and he wanted to make sure this guy understood that fact.

The alpha wouldn’t listen. He leaned closer, forcing Zhenya to take a step back into one of the stalls, his back hitting the wall. “C’mon. What would it hurt? I think you should let me show you a good time.”

Well, Zhenya had tried being polite. He needed a new strategy. He pulled his knee up, aiming for the alpha’s groin. In such close quarters, he could hardly miss his target. The force of the blow was enough to send the alpha staggering backwards, and Zhenya made his escape.

He heard the alpha groaning loudly behind him, but the man recovered enough to shout, “You ugly bitch!”

Zhenya charged out of the locker room, nearly running into Volkov, who had apparently come to check on his progress, just outside the door.

“You’re not done yet, Evgeni?”

Zhenya slipped past him and turned back, keeping the manager between him and the Lev Praha player still in the locker room. “No, there’s still a player in there. He just asked me to go back to his hotel room, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” The omega hated how shaky his voice sounded, but he was glad to have gotten the words out.

Volkov’s eyes narrowed, darting toward the door to the locker room. Then he sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. “The boy’s probably drunk, Evgeni. The losing team has twice the excuse to drink as the winning team.”

The omega blinked back at him, uncomprehending. “I don’t care if he’s drunk! He just sexually harassed me!” His heart was still pounding, his body ready to flee again if the alpha was bold enough to come out of his saferoom.

“Evgeni. You’re being hysterical. And, listen, this is exactly why I told you to reapply your scent blockers.”

Zhenya’s jaw dropped. “You’re blaming _me_?”

His boss cut him off. “Yes. You’ve been nothing but disrespectful to me this entire evening. You won’t socialize with the team, and when I give you another task to do, you talk back. What am I supposed to do with you?” He paused, then leveled Zhenya with a pointed glare. “I’m not sure we need that kind of negativity from our staff next season, I can tell you that.”

Zhenya’s heart skipped a beat. Already knowing the answer, he asked, “Are you firing me? I was just sexually harassed, and you’re _firing_ me?”

Volkov threw up his hands, exasperated. “You were not sexually harassed! You’re a young omega, and you got hit on by an alpha. It happens. Until you can understand that, you’re not going to make it in any workplace, much less as support staff for a professional sports team. You’re surrounded by alphas all the damn time!” His alpha pheromones, already strong, grew stronger with his annoyance, and the scent was cloying, threatening to choke the omega.

Zhenya ran. It was cowardly, but it felt better than standing there, listening to his life collapse around him. He had just lost a job he’d held for ten years. Sure, he’d had no hope of advancement, and the team could make his life hell sometimes, but this job was his last connection to hockey. More than that, it was his _livelihood_. It wasn’t not like he had a college education to fall back on; he had no other marketable skills, and he was supporting his parents on his income alone. 

  


He returned home to a dark apartment. His parents were already in bed, probably sleeping soundly after watching Metallurg Magnitogorsk win on television. He crept through the apartment on tiptoes until he reached his room, closing the door as quietly as possible. He knew that he would face hell come morning, when he had to tell his mother and father that he had lost his job. The last thing he needed was to wake his parents now, when he was barely keeping his emotions in check.

He collapsed on his bed, his body feeling twice as heavy as usual. He had fought tears the entire way home from the rink, and now they started to pool in his eyelashes, blurring his vision. When they threatened to fall, he looked up at the water-stained ceiling, blinking rapidly to try to stem the flow. Despite his efforts, one stubborn tear cut a track down his left cheek. 

He pulled out his phone, glancing at the time. It was morning in Pittsburgh. He shouldn’t call. He had promised to wait for the off-season, and Sid was two days away from playing the first game of the second round, facing the Rangers. The last thing he needed was a distraction from Zhenya. 

Zhenya pulled up Sid’s contact, staring at the number. His vision blurred again, the numbers becoming jumbled as he tried to blink back another wave of tears. He called.

Sid answered, voice alert and chipper in a way that Zhenya never heard in his television interviews.

“Zhenya? This is a surprise!”

“Sid, I—”

“I saw that Magnitogorsk won! Congratulations.” Normally, Zhenya would take a moment like this to chirp Sid for his butchering of “Magnitogorsk” or for his nerdiness in following the KHL playoffs. But he couldn’t feign good cheer this time.

“Sid, I’m have trouble here. Lose job.” His voice was trembling again, and he was always unsteady in English, but he tried not to stutter.

When Sid responded, the brightness in his voice was gone, replaced with a stony edge. “You lost your job? Like, your contract expired when the season ended?” Of course, a hockey player would speak in terms of _contracts_.

The memory of the player from Lev Praha cornering him in the empty locker room flashed through Zhenya’s head, somehow even more intimidating in his mind’s eye that it had been in real life. Another tear escaped, drawing a line down to his chin.

“No. No, boss decide he done with me. He yell at me over years, tell me I’m distract team with scent. And I have long shift today for game seven, blockers not work all day. He say I’m—” _Damn English. What was the word for ‘unprofessional?’_ “—not proper, yes? Scent distract. And then alpha on other team find me after game and want sex. I’m say no, he get angry and grab me, and I’m tell boss. He sick of me, too much trouble. Fire me.” He was really crying now, and he knew he was babbling. He wasn’t completely sure that all of the words were in English.

“Woah, woah, slow down—” Sid’s voice sounded concerned, but Zhenya talked over it.

“Now, no money for mama and papa. We live on savings maybe three or four month, then we run out. Mama never forgive me. She always say me, get husband with good job. I stupid and not listening because I’m have job, I can take care. Now I’m lose job, how they live no money?” He had to stop, gasping through his sobs.

“Hey! Take a breath,” Sid said, interrupting Zhenya before he could go off on another monologue. He had his captain’s voice on. “I didn’t understand all of that, so let’s take it a step at a time, okay?” Zhenya nodded, like Sid could see him over the phone. “So, first thing, have you gone to the police about the player?”

That threw Zhenya for a loop.

“No police. Nothing happen, I’m fight him off, “ he said, voice still watery, but tone matter-of-fact.

“If you _fought him off_ , then something happened, right?” Sid said, sounding the words out like a patient schoolteacher trying to explain a particularly tricky math problem.

Zhenya sighed, impatient. “Police not listen, just make more trouble.”

“Okay. Going to the police is your choice. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to. But, your boss…” Sid paused, but just a hint of outrage had crept into his voice. He continued. “He really told you that your scent was distracting?”

“Yes, but he make me wear scent blocker, so most time I’m not have trouble with him or with players. Tonight everything go wrong at once.”

“Wait, he _makes_ you wear scent blockers?” The outrage was becoming stronger. “I thought you did that to avoid attention from alphas! That’s workplace discrimination! That’s definitely not legal, even in Russia.”

Now it was Zhenya’s turn to be outraged. Who was Sidney Crosby, with his Canadian sensibilities and overblown morality, to judge him? Zhenya was living in the real world. “Who cares about legal? I’m need job! He ask me do this for job, so I’m do it.”

“I’m not blaming you! But you don’t need _this_ job, Zhenya. Surely anything else—” 

“Anything else is not hockey, Sid! You and mama and papa and everyone want I should be husband or teacher or nanny and forget hockey. If I’m leave job now, is like I’m leave hockey twice!” 

The dam broke. When Zhenya had left the rink, he’d been sad, but beneath the sadness and self-pity was anger, which now came bubbling up. Sid was not the real source of the rage or the appropriate target for it, but he would feel its full force, nonetheless.

“Now I’m same place I am at seventeen. No job, live with parents. Can’t even _skate_ anymore. No way manager let me skate with team. I’m watch team win last night, and I'm know I should be there. I’m see them all year at practice, and I’m skate better. I know I’m win Gagarin Cup if I play in KHL, but I’m not play with team, I’m wash _jocks_. And I’m watch you make Pens fourth-line players into goal scorers, and I’m play better than them also. They only in league and not me because they have _knot_.”

Zhenya wasn’t yelling, but his chest was still heaving, and it felt like he had run a marathon. Sid was quiet, letting Zhenya take out his frustrations on him. The omega felt a twinge of guilt, and when he spoke again, he spoke slower and softer, trying to bottle up his fury. Sid was his friend and didn’t deserve a tirade.

“I’m waste ten years of life just dream about things I can’t have. And I’m waste only good years for omega, no alpha, no baby. Now too old to live life I want or life mama want for me.” Embarrassingly, he was sniffling like a child coming down from a temper tantrum. He looked around for a tissue, grabbing one from a box on the nightstand and wiping his nose. “Sorry, Sid. I’m not know why I call you just to yell.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. And you didn’t yell.” Strangely, Sid sounded a little off, his own voice wavering slightly. “Can we video chat? I’d like to see your face.”

Only then did Zhenya realize that he was sitting in the dark. He reached out to turn on the lamp next to his bed, bathing the room in a warm glow. “Yes, you call me back, okay?” He hung up, then waited for the call.

On video, Sid looked wrecked. He was in his spotless, media-ready home, but his hair was a mess, like he’d been running a hand through it repeatedly in distress. Still, he looked better than Zhenya. The omega saw himself on the screen, his face red and swollen from crying.

Sid took a deep breath, the same kind he took when he was steadying himself before a shoot-out. Zhenya had seen it a dozen times on television. It was eerie to see it now, talking to Sid face to face.

“Zhenya, no one’s life is over at twenty-seven, okay?”

The omega nodded, humoring Sid but not really believing him. Sid was _younger_ than Zhenya and was already a Stanley Cup champion, a two-time gold medalist, and soon-to-be league MVP. What did he know about failure?

“You have time to do anything you want.”

Zhenya opened his mouth to protest, but Sid cut him off, anticipating his complaint.

“Anything you want within the confines of our unenlightened society, alright? I admit that you can’t be a professional athlete, but you can do anything else! Go to college, become a doctor, write a book. Be one of those crazy people that that goes on solo sailing expeditions! I don’t care what you do, Zhenya, and I would certainly never _tell_ you what to do.” Here, Sid’s face twisted in irritation. “If your mother is really breathing down your neck about getting mated and having kids, she’s not thinking about what’s best for you. And there’s still plenty of time for those things, anyway.”

Zhenya scrubbed a hand over his face, probably making it even more red and swollen. Oh well, too late to care about appearances now. “That all very nice but it not solve problem now! No job, no money. What I tell parents?”

Sid took a moment to puzzle it over, trying to come up with the right play. “You shouldn’t decide anything right now. You said your parents could make it a few months on savings, right?” Zhenya nodded. “Well, then let them. I’m going back home to Cole Harbour after the playoffs. Why don’t you come with me? I need a training partner to stay in shape, and it would give you a change of scenery and some time to think.”

Zhenya tried not to let the shock show on his face, but he knew his usual mask had fallen. It sounded too good to be true. He hadn’t imagined leaving Russia since his dreams of playing international hockey had dried up. _Hell_ , he hadn’t even gone on vacation in ten years. Skating with Sid would be heaven, but he couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable just thinking about how public it would be. He could hardly go undercover in a small Canadian town with a thick Russian accent and broken English, keeping company with the local celebrity. 

The omega bit his lower lip, a bad habit he’d developed in his childhood, when his lips were always chapped from his time on the ice. “I don’t know, Sid. Say I’m go to Cole Harbour. What we tell your parents? What about media, follow you around? Write stories about you, about me.”

Sid nodded, understanding but also unconcerned. “Well, with my parents, it will be easy. They love it when I bring omegas home. It’s a rare enough occurrence that Mom always hears wedding bells.” He chuckled to himself, looking fond. “As far as the media goes, I won’t lie and say you won’t get some attention. People always film my workouts, and I’ll probably have to stop and sign some autographs. Sports sites love to speculate in the off-season, but we can tell them anything we want, or nothing at all. For all anyone knows, you’re a friend. If you want to wear scent blockers and go incognito, then do that.” 

Zhenya had never heard the word _incognito_ before, but he deduced its meaning from context. He was starting to calm down, and a bone-deep weariness settled over him. 

“You want I’m stay with you?” He asked, a little timid and a little hopeful.

“If you want. I have my own place there, so you won’t have to rub elbows with the parents if you don’t want to. Of course, I’d put you up in a hotel if you asked. No pressure there.”

_Rub elbows? Seriously, sometimes it seemed like Sid was messing with him with these idioms._ Anyway, maybe it was reckless, but he had absolutely nothing left to lose. 

“Okay, Sid. You pay for my plane ticket, after you win Stanley Cup?”

Sid’s crooked smile was blinding. “Hey, don’t say that! You’ll jinx us. Yes, I’ll arrange everything. You just need to pack your bags. Now get some sleep. You really worked yourself up tonight. You must be exhausted.”

Zhenya laughed. That was understatement. 

After they said their goodbyes, a wave of relief washed over the omega. On the one hand, he knew that his life wasn’t about to suddenly become a walk in the park. After all, he still had to tell his parents that he lost his job and that he didn’t plan to seek employment right away. They would be furious, and they definitely wouldn’t approve of his trip to Nova Scotia to live unmated with an alpha, no matter how temporary the living arrangements. There was no doubt that he was about to take the risk of alienating himself even further from his family. On the other hand, he knew he needed some kind of change to dig himself out of the rut he created. 

After ten long, wasted years, one thing was certain: he wasn’t about to waste the next ten.


	8. Reunited

Sid didn’t dare tell anyone about the new developments with Zhenya, not even Flower. He was remarkably superstitious, even for a hockey player. The team didn’t need any kind of distraction in the middle of playoffs, even if that distraction took the form of good news from the captain.

Still, after a few early wins, the Penguins couldn’t keep the momentum going against the Rangers, and they lost in game seven. After the game, the mood in the locker room was tense, and the rookies were especially dejected. Sid had seen this before. Every year, the young ones thought they were destined for the Stanley Cup. 

Sid did his captainly duties, doling out pep talks and awkward shoulder pats to the guys. Eventually, the room cleared out, leaving Sid with just the core of his team: Kunitz, Fleury, and Letang. These players didn’t need Sid’s reassurances as much as the rookies did. Although they were clearly disappointed by the loss, they were all three playoff veterans who understood well that the hockey gods could be cruel.

Flower spoke up first. “Well, boys, it’s been fun.”

Tanger nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it was a good season, all things considered. Are you guys staying in Pittsburgh? Well, I suppose I don’t have to ask Mr. MVP.” He looked pointedly at Sid. “You headed back home soon?”

Sid hadn’t thought about it yet, but once Tanger mentioned it, he couldn’t wait to get home. “Yeah. Probably in the next week or two.”

Tanger raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That quickly? You miss your sister that much?” he teased.

Sid hesitated, which was enough to catch the ever-observant goaltender’s attention. 

“Sid? Have you been keeping secrets again?” Flower’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Sid rolled his eyes. “Not _secrets_ , Flower. I just didn’t want to say anything during playoffs—”

Flower cut him off. “Ah, yes. Those are the playoff rules. You can’t walk past the opponent’s locker room, eat the wrong brand of peanut butter, or tell your friends anything about your life. At least, that’s what Gretzky always said.” Every word dripped with sarcasm.

“Oh, come on! You’re just as superstitious,” Sid protested. It’s a well-known fact around the league that goalies are always the craziest members of their teams. “Anyway. Kuni will remember the omega I met in Sochi.” Kuni nodded, urging Sid to continue. “Well, he’s coming to visit in Cole Harbour this summer. Hopefully, he’ll stay with me the whole off-season.”

Kuni and Tanger both looked shocked, their eyes wide as dinner plates. Kuni sputtered, “ _He?_ I thought the omega from Sochi was a woman!”

Sid folded his arms over his chest. “You _assumed_ the omega was a woman, and I didn’t see the need to correct you until I thought the relationship was actually going somewhere.”

Tanger still looked baffled. “I’m sorry, are we talking about the one-night-stand from Sochi that Kuni was chirping you about months ago? How is that still a thing, and why am I just hearing about it now?”

Flower gave Tanger a playful shove. “Because you’re oblivious! Anyone with eyes could see that Sid has been glued to his phone since January. Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t notice all the times he was smiling at his own lap, with his phone under the dinner table?”

Sid blushed. He clearly hadn’t been very discreet. 

Flower continued. “More importantly, Sid, did you say _relationship_? That’s a big word.”

Sid sighed. “I don’t know, Flower. We’re moving a little faster than I would like. I wouldn’t normally try living with an omega before we’ve even had a third date, but he just lost his job, so he’s in a tough spot. We’re playing it by ear.” 

Tanger and Kuni were clearly never going to recover from their shock, but Flower looked happy for him, which was gratifying. He gave Sid a one-armed hug, towering over him as usual. “Good luck with your man, Sid. You deserve it. These clowns will be happy for you as soon as they pick their jaws off the floor. Right, boys?”

Tanger interjected, “Right! Right, of course.”

Flower smiled blindingly. “See? Now, Sid, you have no more excuses for keeping secrets, so you tell us how it goes with your mystery man, okay?”

Sid nodded. “I will. And his name is Evgeni.”

Finally, Kuni woke up from his trance. “Evgeni? That’s not going to work in Pittsburgh, man. He needs a nickname. Geno?”

Sid nearly groaned. “Please don’t.”

But the damage was already done.

  


Arranging for Zhenya to come to Cole Harbour was simple. Sid bought a plane ticket for a flight in early June and contacted his housekeeping service to set up a guest bedroom in the summer house, just in case. Overall, planning the logistics of the visit was the easy part. Sid was much more worried about introducing a virtual stranger to his family as his boyfriend. He didn’t think they would be upset with him, but they would certainly be surprised by the sudden existence of a random Russian omega in his life.

He pulled out his phone to text Taylor. She had already arrived back home for the summer, and he needed someone on the inside to subtly prepare their parents for Zhenya. He typed out a quick message.

_Hey, Taylor. I’ve got a favor to ask of you before I come home next week._

_> >Ooooh yes what_

_This will probably be a surprise to you (sorry), but I am going to be bringing an omega home this summer, and I really need the parents not to freak out._

_> >Wtf sid im at the dinner table. I almost screamed_

_Geez, Taylor. Poker face._

_> >!!!!!!!!!!! So what do you want me to do?????_

_Just mention to the folks that you think I sound a little preoccupied in our texts, like I might be in a relationship._

_> >Np that’s true _

That startled Sid. Again, he clearly wasn’t subtle.

_Ugh. Great. It’s honestly a miracle that I’ve kept any of this secret._

_> >Yeah, and what gives, big brother? Why the big secret??_

_It’s complicated. We met in Sochi. He lives in Russia, so it wasn’t exactly easy to get to know each other._

_> >Sooooo romantic, international love! Since when have you been into male omegas?_

_Since February, I guess. I don’t know why people make a big deal out of it. I’ve always dated omegas, and he’s an omega. Trust me on that one._

_> >Ewwww no details please. I’ll do what you want just stop talking_

_Haha thanks, Taylor._

_> >Happy for you!_

* * *

Of course, Zhenya was disappointed for Sid when the Penguins were eliminated in the second round, but he was also selfishly glad. The team’s early exit meant that he could travel to Nova Scotia sooner, and he didn’t think he could make it another week in the same apartment with his parents. His mother was furious enough when she found out that he’d been fired. Then, when he explained that he was going to stay with an alpha for a few months, she flew into a rage, calling him _slut_ and _whore_ and demanding to know just how he met an alpha in _Canada_ for God’s sake. Zhenya thought she didn’t deserve the details, so he kept them to himself.

He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to his parents in the last few weeks, and he suspected that by the time he returned from Cole Harbour, he would no longer be welcome in their home. Still, he was prepared for the guilt trips he would endure from them, as they would eventually realize that they depended on his financial support to stay afloat.

As he took a taxi, alone, to the airport, he tried to put those thoughts behind him. He had plenty of other things to worry about, his mind buzzing with anxiety by the time he boarded the plane. He tried to imagine how Sid would react to seeing him. Would there still be a spark between them, or had it been snuffed out by months of separation? What if Sid, upon seeing Zhenya in his childhood stomping ground, realized that the omega was simply out of place in Sid’s world? Zhenya was self-aware enough to understand that his English was bad. Sid had been nothing but patient with him, but what if Sid’s parents heard his broken English and saw only an ignorant, uneducated omega? How would he even conduct himself with them? It wasn’t like any of his previous alphas had taken him home to meet the family. This was an entirely new experience.

The woman seated next to him on the plane broke him out of his thoughts.

“You look nervous. Afraid of flying?” she asked. She had a sweet face but was sharply dressed in a black suit. The flight was scheduled to stop in France. She probably had business there.

Zhenya, casually dressed in comparison and feeling very awkward in his business-class seat, tried to school his features. “No, I’m not afraid. I’m more worried about what happens when I get to my destination. I’m meeting my…boyfriend’s family.” It felt weird to call Sid his boyfriend. It wasn’t really true, even if he hoped it would be soon. But, it would be far weirder to explain their actual relationship to a stranger on an airplane. Even Zhenya didn’t know what their official label would be. 

The woman nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s always scary, but if he loves you, then they’ll love you, right?”

Zhenya could only think of his own parents and how quickly their love for him had soured and then vanished, replaced by shame. 

“I certainly hope you’re right.”

  


It was after midnight by the time Zhenya arrived in Halifax, but Sid still insisted on picking him up from the airport personally. Seeing Sidney Crosby waiting for him in the terminal was surreal. He was dressed in the ridiculous slide sandals he preferred, as well as a hoodie pulled suspiciously low over his face, a rudimentary disguise to hide from the paparazzi. It was hilarious and endearing that Sid thought any person in Halifax wouldn’t recognize him from his waddling gait alone. Luckily, the airport was practically empty.

Sid hadn’t looked up yet, his face trained on his phone, possibly waiting for a text from Zhenya. Steeling his nerves, Zhenya called out to him. There was no time to turn back.

“Sid?”

The alpha looked up, smiling. Seeing that crooked grin, Zhenya almost stopped dead in his tracks. It was almost embarrassing how disarming an earnestly happy Sidney Crosby could be.

Sid nearly ran up to meet him, stopping a few feet away, suddenly self-conscious.

“It’s good to see you! How was your flight?” He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly a little abashed by his own attempts at small talk.

Zhenya couldn’t allow the awkwardness to continue. “Was nice. Trick some rich alpha into pay for business class, so very comfortable.” 

Sid’s face brightened at the gentle teasing. Chirping constituted familiar ground for them. “Who is this alpha? Are you two-timing me?”

Zhenya closed the gap between them and planted a kiss on Sid’s cheek, his lips just catching the corner of Sid’s mouth. “No. Is only you of course.”

When Zhenya took a step back, he saw a hint of blush on Sid’s cheeks. It was funny to think that a few months prior, they had slept together in the Olympic Village. Now, it was like they were back at square one, nervous and excited at every small touch.

Sid cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose we should get your luggage and head home. You must be exhausted. I had a guest room set up for you at the house, if you like.”

Although Zhenya’s mind thought it was about nine in the morning, the local time in Magnitogorsk, his body was truly exhausted from the flight, and sleep sounded like heaven. The living arrangements left something to be desired, however. So, he spoke up.

“No guest room. I’m think I sleep with you. Just sleep, yes? Is bad jet lag.”

Sid looked pleased, like he had hoped Zhenya would say that. 

“Of course. That sounds perfect.” He stretched up to place a chaste kiss on Zhenya’s lips, and they walked together towards baggage claim.


	9. Cole Harbour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice, long chapter for you all. Thank you for your patience with updating.

Sid almost thought he was dreaming when he awoke with Zhenya’s arm thrown over his chest, the omega’s deep breaths tickling the side of his neck. It was Thursday, the fifth of June, and he was somehow waking up with the same gorgeous man who had charmed him nearly four months prior, whom he thought he might never see in person again.

They had slept for over eight hours since arriving home from the airport, and Zhenya showed no sign of waking yet. He had been mostly quiet in the car, exhaustion obviously taking its toll and robbing him of his English. It didn’t matter. They had weeks to talk.

Sid, recognizing that he was a complete parody of himself, also couldn’t wait to skate with Zhenya again. It may have been June, but in Canada, the hockey rinks are open all year, and even if they weren’t, they would open for Sid. He had learned that there were a few perks to being the best in the world, especially in a country obsessed with his sport. 

But, as much as he wanted to battle Zhenya on the ice again, he tried to rein in his expectations. He had lost more than one relationship to his hockey mania. He didn’t envy his teammates’ wives and girlfriends, or his own exes for that matter. In some ways, it was a hard life, watching your alpha leave for days at a time for road games, only to have them come back and spend every spare minute at the rink.

Zhenya snuffled against his neck, finally showing signs of wakefulness. His hair was an unmitigated disaster, almost impossibly rumpled after a single night’s sleep. Sid ran a hand through Zhenya’s curls, taming them slightly.

“Sid, what time?” The omegas voice was thick with sleep, and he hadn’t opened his eyes yet.

“It’s about nine.”

Zhenya cracked one eye. “I sleep too long.”

Sid chuckled. “Too long for what? You have someplace better to be?”

Zhenya closed his eye again, pressing his face into Sid’s shoulder and still clearly fighting sleep. “Hockey.”

Even though the omega wasn’t looking at him and wouldn’t see, Sid smiled down at Zhenya. That was encouraging. At least they were on the same page.

“We’ll go to the rink when you’re really awake, okay?”

Zhenya grunted in affirmation, and then his head became heavy on Sid’s shoulder once more.

  


Sid hadn’t anticipated that Zhenya would arrive without any hockey gear, but he knew that there were piles of old pads and skates at the rink, so he assumed that he could scrounge together a full set with relative ease until he could order new. Sid’s sticks would be laughably short for the omega, but it was simple enough to buy a new stick on the way to the rink. The shop owner was both star-struck and baffled by the arrival of Sidney Crosby, who hadn’t needed off-the-rack sticks since his first endorsement deal at age fifteen. After choosing a long stick with a wicked curve, basically the exact opposite of his own specifications, Sid explained, “It’s for a friend.” That seemed to satisfy the owner, who then, unsurprisingly, asked for an autograph. Instead of signing the proffered piece of paper, Sid snagged a knockoff Penguins ballcap from one of the displays and signed it, giving it to the man. There was no shortage of Penguins merchandise in Nova Scotia. It was the only American team most of the inhabitants cheered for. “Charge me for the cap, too.”

Zhenya had waited in the car throughout the transaction, not yet willing to show his face side-by-side with the town’s golden boy. Sid couldn’t blame him. Sid benefited from years of experience in the limelight, but he remembered being a young kid, nearly overwhelmed by the attention. There would be time for the omega to come out of his shell.

Zhenya’s shyness continued as they entered the rink. They met only a few employees along the way, all of whom Sid knew well from his years of returning to Cole Harbour in the off-season. He introduced Zhenya as “Evgeni, a friend from Russia,” which most seemed to accept at face value. Zhenya had not worn scent blockers, and one of the ice maintenance workers clearly registered his scent as omega, turning to Sid with raised eyebrows. Sid shrugged dismissively at the other alpha, offering no further explanation of his relationship. Zhenya shook hands politely with everyone they encountered, saying “pleased to meet,” but he was quiet, perhaps embarrassed by his limited English. He clearly itched to be on the ice.

As soon as their skates touched the ice, the shyness disappeared. Zhenya’s lanky body, covered in a patchwork of borrowed equipment, was somehow effortlessly graceful while skating. Having been forced to retire from competitive hockey ten years prior, his speed left something to be desired, but none of his other skills had deteriorated, and the basics were all present. Sid, still recovering from the usual injuries sustained in the playoffs, was happy to have a more laidback practice. He found himself enjoying their skating drills without the pressure of the regular season, which was months away. 

The omega, smiling constantly, still managed to turn everything into a competition. Skating drills became all-out footraces. Stick-handling practice quickly devolved into a challenge: who could juggle the puck the longest? Sid was a professional athlete at the peak of his career, so he won every time, but the smile never fell from Zhenya’s face.

They ended the workout by shooting some pucks into an empty net, the kind of training that Sid used to do in his basement. For the first time, Zhenya seemed disappointed. His shot was good, probably minor-league quality, but Sid knew that Zhenya still saw himself as a sniper, a natural goal-scorer with a deadly shot. When it looked like the omega might be succumbing to frustration, Sid skated over and gave him a good-natured stick tap on the shin pads.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll work on it.”

Zhenya’s mouth twisted, dubious.

“We will! Tomorrow, we can come back, and you can take shots all day. I’ll play goalie.”

Finally, the omega’s lips twitched, fighting a grin. “You pick wrong position, Sid. Always want play goalie. Maybe Fleury switch with you.”

“Yeah, well, goaltending is in my blood.”

Zhenya sent another puck flying into the back of the net, looking slightly more satisfied with himself.

“Come on. Let’s pick up these pucks up before you wear yourself out. Eventually, we’ll have to do some conditioning if you want to have long workouts like this.”

The omega rolled his eyes. “Sidney Crosby always worry about conditioning. I’m not need giant hockey thighs, Sid. I not play professional.”

“You say that now, but you’re going to be sore tomorrow, and you know it. I’m not talking weight training or anything. Just plyometrics.”

Zhenya almost snorted, clearly amused. “Is cute you forget I not speak English and use big words.”

“Oh. Plyometrics are—”

“Sid, if I care, I Google.” He gave Sid one more mischievous glance and skated off the ice, almost daring Sid to follow. 

Zhenya, as a male omega, was not allowed to use any of the showers at the rink. Sid was annoyed at himself; he had never noticed that a rink in his hometown had no accommodations for male omegas. How could he talk about growing the game and making it more inclusive when he was so oblivious to the obstacles facing people like Zhenya? In penance and solidarity, Sid decided to wait to shower, and they both returned home in sweat-damp clothes. Sid couldn’t help but notice how Zhenya’s sweet scent clung to his clothes and his skin, which was flushed from exertion.

On the way home from the rink, Zhenya didn’t speak much, looking wistfully out the passenger-side window. Sid figured the omega was feeling jet lag again. He glanced at the clock in the dashboard. It would be almost midnight in Magnitogorsk.

As he locked the front door behind them, he broke the silence. “I know you probably want a shower. The guest bathroom is down the hall to the right. It’s already stocked with shampoo and soap.” He gestured loosely down the hall. “You have time for a nap before dinner, if you need it.”

Zhenya, still looking a bit preoccupied, nodded in understanding, wandering down the hall and out of sight.

Sid made his way to his own en-suite bathroom, starting the shower and stripping out of his clothes. He tested the temperature of the water with his hand before climbing under the warm spray, closing the curtain behind him. He let the water run over him for a moment, the heat of it loosening his stiff muscles and joints.

He heard the door to the bathroom open, and bare feet shuffled across the tile floor.

“Zhenya?” he called through the curtain, “Do you need something?”

The omega’s long, calloused fingers wrapped around the edge of the curtain, pulling it back enough for Zhenya to slide into the shower stall next to Sid, bare from head to toe.

Sid’s breath caught in his throat. Zhenya’s scent, almost like caramel and indisputably _omega_ , joined with the steam in the shower to create an irresistible, encompassing cloud around them. How could the quiet omega he brought home have been replaced by this confident creature? He became momentarily distracted by a few droplets of water traveling down Zhenya’s neck and over his chest, but then the omega stepped forward, backing him against the wall. Zhenya reached out a hand, cupping Sid’s jaw.

“This okay?”

Sid didn’t have faith in his ability to talk, so he nodded frantically, drops of water flying from the ends of his curls.

Zhenya leaned down, his lips meeting Sid’s. Sid had never dated someone taller than him. There was something thrilling about it. Sid’s hands jumped up instinctively to Zhenya’s waist, and he could feel the omega’s stomach contract, as if startled by the sudden contact. He pulled Zhenya against him and deepened the kiss, one of his hands travelling to Zhenya’s hair.

The omega pulled back for a breath, his eye’s meeting Sid’s. 

“Thank you,” he said, dropping a kiss on Sid’s cheek, and then another on his neck. “Thank you.”

Sid was perplexed. He had never imagined his life taking this turn. A beautiful omega climbing naked into his shower and then thanking _him_? It didn’t add up. “You don’t have to thank me.”

Zhenya kissed his other cheek. “Yes I do. For practice.”

Sid let his head drop back against the tile, giving Zhenya more access to his neck. “For practice? That’s no sacrifice. I like practicing with you.”

Zhenya reached for Sid’s jaw again and gently tilted his head down, making eye contact. He was smiling. “Exactly.” The omega renewed their kiss, a hand splayed over Sid’s chest.

The scent of Zhenya’s arousal was almost overwhelming, just as heady and perfect as Sid remembered from their night in Sochi. Also from that night, Sid remembered how Zhenya had come apart, shaking in ecstasy when Sid had taken the omega’s cock in hand. Sid wasn’t experienced with male omegas, and he had been nervous that he would make a fool of himself. But, to very satisfying results, he had touched Zhenya the same way he would touch himself, assuming that the technique was much the same.

Hoping to recreate the omega’s pleasure from those months before, Sid pulled Zhenya close, their torsos pressed tightly together, and reached a hand between them, wrapping it around the shaft of the omega’s cock. Zhenya gasped, a gratifying noise, and thrust into Sid’s palm. The omega seemed disoriented, unsure of what to do with his hands, but then he grabbed Sid’s biceps to steady himself, dipping his head into Sid’s neck and surrendering to the pleasure. It didn’t take long before the omega’s breath hitched, and he spilled onto the flat plane of Sid’s stomach. 

After taking a moment to compose himself, Zhenya reached out to return the favor, his own hand finding Sid’s cock. Sid had better endurance, but Zhenya had better technique, so in the end, the result was the same. The sight of his cum on the omega’s hand and thigh was enough to make his knot swell, rare for a handjob, and Sid clamped his own hand around it until it receded.

For a few minutes, their deep breaths and the splash of water were the only sounds in the room. Then, Sid turned to grab a bar of soap and passed it to Zhenya. 

“If you want to do that after every practice, I’m not going to stop you.”

Zhenya laughed.

* * *

Everything with Sid had been going perfectly, and Zhenya was sure that he was about to screw it up. The time had come, just two weeks into his stay in Cole Harbour, for him to meet Sid’s parents. Sid had gotten a phone call from his mother, asking why they hadn’t seen him since the end of the season. Zhenya only heard half of the conversation, but he understood well enough.

_Hi, Mom…I’ve just been getting settled in here…Taylor told you that?...Well, yes, I’m staying with an omega…Zhenya…ZHEN-ya…Yeah, I think that’s close enough…It’s a Russian nickname, short for Evgeni…Evgeni…He’s Russian…Well, we met in Sochi…Woah, no need to yell!...I didn’t tell you about it before because I didn’t know if it was serious…We were doing the long-distance thing…Yes, we would be happy to come for dinner tomorrow…_

Sid had glanced apologetically at Zhenya at this point, patting him on the knee and then leaving the room to continue the discussion in private. The omega could still hear him explaining to his mother that Zhenya ate normal food and anything she made would be fine.

Sid had returned a few minutes later, still looking contrite. “Sorry. They really want to meet you.”

Zhenya sighed.

  


Zhenya let Sid ring the doorbell, choosing to remain a step or two behind him on the Crosbys’ front porch. He focused his energy on repressing the urge to fidget, but his fingers still played with the hem of his shirt, betraying his nerves. 

“Relax,” said Sid, apparently perfectly at ease.

“How I’m be relax? Meet people who build hockey robot. Need good first impression.” It was a transparent attempt to use humor to disguise his apprehension, and Sid saw right through it. He gave Zhenya a supportive glance and grabbed his hand, rubbing a thumb across his knuckles.

Zhenya was expecting the matriarch to answer the door, but instead they were greeted by a blond teenager with a remarkable resemblance to Sid. She had the same crooked smile on her face. Sid let go of Zhenya’s hand to give the girl a hug.

“Hey, Taylor. How have you been?”

“Hey. Good. Missed you, Squid.”

“I've missed you too.”

Taylor started to wiggle out of the hug, peeking around Sid to get a glimpse of Zhenya. His nerves intensified.

“Hi! I’m Taylor.” She walked over and offered Zhenya a hand. He shook it, hoping that she couldn’t feel the sweat on his palm.

“Zhenya. Nice to meet you.” Sid had taught him that phrase, so he was sure that his English was right, but Taylor’s face scrunched up in puzzlement. She looked just like Sid did when a reporter asked him a tough question in a media scrum. Then, her face brightened in realization.

“Have you been skating with Sid?”

Zhenya was surprised by the question, but Sid spoke up to save them from an awkward silence. “Yeah, he’s been doing workouts with me. Why?”

Taylor laughed, “Because I’ve seen you guys on Sportsnet! Someone took a blurry video of your practice. Wait, I’ll show you.” She pulled out her phone, typing with the speed of someone who had never known a time before cell phones. “See?”

The headline read: **Crosby Embarrasses Practice Goalie in Halifax**

The video was indeed blurry, but it showed Zhenya setting Sid up for a one-timer that rocketed past the goaltender’s ear, just above the glove hand. Under the video was an article, full of effusive praise for Sid’s shot.

Zhenya read slowly in English, but a few lines of text stood out to him right away. 

_Sid the Kid’s training partner is unidentified, but sources suggest it is Jonathan Drouin of the Halifax Mooseheads, trying to raise his game before Tampa Bay’s training camp. Good luck, Jonathan! You’re learning from the best._

Sid, reading much faster than Zhenya, almost immediately exclaimed, “ _Drouin?_ Talk about shoddy journalism!”

Taylor nodded in agreement. “Terrible. But I did believe it at first since you skate with the Mooseheads sometimes.”

“Just Nate, really,” Sid responded, but Zhenya had stopped paying much attention, letting the siblings talk.

He didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. On the one hand, he had been mistaken for a real hockey player. On the other hand, that hockey player was a big, brawny teenaged alpha. It wasn’t the most favorable of comparisons. An omega who looked and played like Jonathan Drouin would be an _ugly_ omega, a freak of nature.

Taylor almost seemed to read his mind and sense his insecurities. “Pretty ridiculous, huh? I don’t know who those sources are, but they’re blind if they think you look like Drouin. If Drouin could pass the puck like that, he would’ve made the Lightning’s roster last year.”

It was extreme praise, bordering on ridiculous, but it had the intended effect. Zhenya couldn’t help but feel pride. 

“You too kind. Sid do all work in that play.”

They were interrupted by a shout from inside the house, this time clearly Sid’s mother. “Taylor! Are you going to keep them waiting on the porch all evening, or are you going to invite them in?” Despite the words, her voice was good-natured.

Taylor ushered them inside. “I guess that means the macaroni and cheese is finally done. You wouldn’t believe how long she’s been cooking, Sid. Honestly, it would be overkill even if you were dating the Queen of England.”

Sid’s mother, like all mothers, had fantastic hearing, picking up Taylor’s words from the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Taylor Crosby, I heard that!” Taylor winced. Then, a short middle-aged woman bustled out of the kitchen and straight to Zhenya, extending her hand. “Hi! I’m Trina. It’s so nice to meet you. Sidney has told us practically nothing about you.” She turned a glare on Sid, and he shuffled from foot to foot, looking abashed.

Zhenya spoke up to defend his alpha. “It my fault, Mrs. Crosby. I’m ask keep quiet. If no one know, media not find out.” It wasn’t really true, but the white lie would save Sid some grief.

The woman reached up to pat him kindly on the cheek. “It’s Trina. Well, I suppose I can understand wanting to keep a new relationship under wraps, but that just means you’ll have to tell us all about yourself tonight. I sent Troy out to buy a dessert, but he should be back soon. I’m a good cook, but I can’t bake to save my life.”

Sid shook his head fondly at his mother, moving to Zhenya’s side and throwing an arm around his waist. 

The front door opened, revealing Troy Crosby backing through the doorway carefully with a large cake box in his hands.

“Speak of the devil,” Trina said, mystifyingly. _Speak of the devil? I must have misheard._ Zhenya glanced down at Sid with his eyebrows raised, asking for clarification.

“It’s just a figure of speech. I’ll explain later,” said Sid.

Troy turned, still moving very cautiously with the dessert in his hands. His eyes found Zhenya’s. Taylor and Trina had not given any sign that they were surprised by his appearance, but Troy’s eyes widened, flickering from Zhenya’s face to Sid’s arm wrapped around him. Zhenya saw the smallest twitch of a nostril, Troy verifying that this man was really his son’s omega. Zhenya’s scent must have convinced him because he schooled his features and said, “Hi, I’m Troy. Let me set this down in the kitchen, and I’ll be back to shake your hand.”

Zhenya nodded, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. Zhenya might not be to the alpha’s taste, but he hadn’t made a scene. Zhenya couldn’t have hoped for much better.

The meal really was extravagant, almost a Thanksgiving feast. Zhenya praised the food, but Trina, much like Sid, was too humble to take a compliment.

“Thank you, dear, but it was nothing,” she said and then quickly changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell us how you and Sid met?”

Zhenya recounted the story of their meeting in Sochi, leaving out the part where Sid had mistaken him for an alpha. Sid interrupted frequently to commend Zhenya’s hockey.

_He really battles in the corners…knows how to use his reach advantage…lifted my stick and stole the puck before I knew what happened!_

The omega’s cheeks flushed redder and redder throughout the story. Trina, Troy, and Taylor flashed knowing glances at each other with every interruption from Sid. Taylor coughed something that sounded like “hockeysexual,” which earned her an elbow to the ribs from Sid.

Troy spoke up. “It sounds like the two of you are well-suited to each other.” 

Trina nodded in agreement, smiling softly before saying, “Who has room for dessert?”

  


Life in Cole Harbour fell into an easy routine. In the mornings and early afternoons, Zhenya would skate with Sid, sometimes mixing some of the alpha’s dreaded conditioning into their workouts. Their afternoons were free, and they spent them like honeymooners do. Sid still made love to him in such an adoring way, and Zhenya thought the novelty of that might never wear off. He loved Sid’s gentle touches and the way the alpha seemed tempted by every part of Zhenya’s muscular form, genuinely attracted to the omega for his strength as much as for his alluring scent. Sometimes, Zhenya felt a twinge of guilt when Sid refrained from knotting him, as he always did. Zhenya appreciated the alpha’s forbearance and certainly didn’t miss the sting of a knot, but a female omega would happily give that pleasure to Sid.

The couple spent a surprising number of evenings with the Crosby household, enjoying a homemade meal and pleasant conversation. The Crosby family was full of love and inside jokes, some of which were puzzling to Zhenya, though he laughed all the same. He could barely remember the last time his own family members had been so companiable with each other. It felt good to be included in their teasing and their reminiscing, and a bit of their happiness rubbed off on him with every visit.

He became good friends with Taylor, who seemed to delight in a bit of trash talk as much as Sid did. She reserved her best chirps for “Squid,” but as she became more familiar with Zhenya, he was not off-limits. She was also a good confidant, understanding many of Zhenya’s insecurities. He enjoyed having an omega friend for the first time in his life.

“So, are you going to the NHL Awards with Sid next week?” she asked him amiably on one of their evenings together.

Zhenya had agonized over this decision as soon as he found out that Sid would be attending the awards in Las Vegas. He sighed deeply.

“No. I’m think Sid win big award, all camera on him. Not ready,” he said honestly.

Taylor hummed softly, then said, “You know, I’m sure Sid would be really happy to have you, even just as moral support. He’ll probably have to give a speech. He hates public speaking.”

Zhenya shook his head. “I can’t.”

Taylor leveled him with a pointed look. “Okay, I get it. I’ll be his date. I know you’re worried about what people will say about you when you guys go public. But, listen, I’ve never seen Sid this happy before. It doesn’t matter what a few internet trolls say about you guys. Sid’s not going to give you up. Okay?”

He wrapped Taylor in a hug, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Okay. Thank you.”

  


Zhenya watched the NHL Awards on television. The ceremony would have been horrifically boring, except for the fact that Sid collected three trophies. He was already guaranteed the scoring title, and he was the apparent front-runner for the Hart, but he still looked a little stunned every time his name was called. 

Zhenya didn’t have any claim over Sid. Their relationship was practically brand new. They certainly weren’t mated. Still, when Sid took a moment in his acceptance speech to thank his family for their love, support, and sacrifice, Zhenya couldn’t help his heart swelling with pride.


	10. Pittsburgh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t have time to respond to all of your comments, but I really appreciate the love that this story is getting. Also, I’ve noticed a few html mistakes (random page breaks, etc.), so I’ve tried to go back and fix those. If you notice any mistakes that are really distracting, let me know. I’m editing this whole thing myself, and I’m sure I’m missing some errors.

Sid had known that the summer would end eventually, but he hadn’t anticipated how quickly September would sneak up on him. Once he returned from the NHL Awards, the weeks flew by. July and August were a happy blur, punctuated by a few crystal-clear memories that helped reassure him that he hadn’t been dreaming the entire time. Zhenya and Sid celebrated their birthdays together, smashing cake in each other’s faces just for the hell of it. Sid had gifted Zhenya a necklace with a pendant reading “71,” to match his own “87.” Rather than thanking him, Zhenya had punched him in the shoulder, payback for making him cry. It still felt like _thank you_.

With August winding down, Zhenya was clearly getting anxious about his next steps. He had already paced around most of the house, phone in hand, insisting that he was just about to call his parents.

“I have to call, Sid.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Need go back. Canada not let me stay forever.”

“I know.” As much as Sid hated the thought of Zhenya leaving, he didn’t want a dispute with the Department of Citizenship and Immigration. Zhenya needed to go back, at least for a short time.

“Season soon, you leave for Pittsburgh. Parents need me home. Need find new job.” 

Sid nodded encouragingly. He had heard the same reasoning from Zhenya all morning, on a loop. The omega knew as well as Sid did that he needed to go home, but that didn’t stop him from stalling for time.

Finally, Zhenya dialed the phone, holding it to his ear. It rang for a few minutes, then cut to voicemail. Zhenya hung up, looking at Sid.

“All that worry, and they not pick up. I’m try again.” Just as he said he would, he redialed.

_Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring._

Nothing.

“What time there, Sid? Am I call late?”

Sid looked at his watch. “It should be about seven o’clock. Not too late.”

Zhenya bit his lip, fretful. He redialed.

Sid watched from his position on the couch as Zhenya again paced the living room, this time with the phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m sure they’re fine. You don’t need to look so worried.”

Zhenya nodded, but this time he left a voice message in anxious, hurried Russian, the contents of which Sid could only guess. Then, he collapsed on the sofa next to Sid, cuddling close.

He called again before lunch, still plastered against Sid’s side. Sid turned his head to watch Zhenya in profile as the omega waited through the endless ringing, his face a combination of boredom and concern. Finally, at the last moment, someone answered the phone. Clearly expecting the call to cut to voicemail, Zhenya had jumped in surprise, sending a tremor across the couch.

Sid couldn’t speak Russian, but the scene before him was pure drama. Emotions flashed rapidly over the omega’s face: shock, fear, rage, shame. The conversation was tense, the voice on the other side of the line occasionally raising in anger so that Sid could hear it. In the end, Sid only made out one word. 

_Denis._

Zhenya’s face was like stone when he finally hung up, dropping the phone unceremoniously into his own lap. Sid gave him a moment to compose himself before asking, “What happened?” He was imagining the worst, maybe an accident or a death in the family.

After a long pause, the omega spoke. His voice was unusually quiet, almost inaudible. It was so unlike Zhenya that Sid felt unnerved.

“My brother. Denis. He come back.”

Sid had never heard of a Denis, but he tried to keep his confusion off his face, projecting only comfort and sympathy. “You’ve never mentioned you had a brother.”

Zhenya’s eyes welled with tears, and a few finally spilled. Sid fought the urge to wipe them off the omega’s cheek, like brushing the tears away would remove the hurt.

“I’m not have brother last ten years. He leave when I’m present omega. Take all money we keep in tin for emergency and leave.” The omega’s cheeks flushed, not out of embarrassment at being seen crying, but out of a rage over a long-ago grievance that would never be forgotten.

Moments like these reminded Sid that the language barrier between them was perhaps the most inconsequential of many cultural divides. Judging from Zhenya’s experiences, it seemed that, in Russia, the presentation of a male omega brought shame, or at least embarrassment, to the family. Certainly, Canada had its own problems with discrimination. National newspapers still ran headlines about unequal pay and workplace sexual harassment. Male omegas were statistically more likely to receive low-quality healthcare at higher prices than alpha men or even omega women. But, the social stigma of having an omega son was considered medieval, a thing of the past. Abandoning the child, or leaving the family like Zhenya’s brother had done, was nearly unheard of. Although he didn’t speak of it often, Zhenya clearly faced undisguised bigotry in Russia, even from his family.

It felt like an empty gesture, but Sid laid a hand on Zhenya’s knee, hoping that it would be some kind of meager consolation. To his great relief, Zhenya took that hand in his, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Sid said, “Did he say something to you?” 

Zhenya’s jaw was tight when he spoke, a muscle twitching visibly near his left ear. “He say I’m not welcome back. He say he have job, take care mama and papa now. He have wife, help mama cook and clean. He say mama and papa not want me back. He say _fuck off_.” With every sentence, Zhenya’s voice became louder, his righteous anger breaking through and taking center stage.

In Sid’s opinion, anger was preferable to despondency. An angry Zhenya was someone he could work with. He gave the omega a moment to let off some steam, and then said, “Well, I suppose you’ll have to continue your North American vacation.” 

Zhenya looked at him skeptically. His cheeks were still flushed slightly pink from his rage, but when he spoke, his voice had lost its sharpness, replaced with weariness. “What you mean, Sid?”

“Come to Pittsburgh with me. Think about it; you can’t go back to Magnitogorsk. Take another month to decide what you’re going to do. We can have an agent look at apartments for you in Russia. Whatever you want.” Sid might as well use his resources to help his boyfriend.

The omega wasn’t appeased. “What I’m do in Pittsburgh, Sid? You have training camp. I just wait at home?”

“Come watch the camp. The practices are open to the public, and we always have a few scrimmages before the regular season. They can get a little chippy with the young guys trying to make the team, so those will be fun to watch,” Sid explained. Then, he brought out the big guns. “Maybe you could even meet Mario. The Lemieuxs love welcoming people to the city.”

If his body language was anything to go by, Zhenya was definitely tempted by that. He sat up a little straighter, twisting to look Sid directly in the eye. “I’m not new draft pick, Sid. Hockey royalty not want meet me.”

It was a weak complaint. Sid could tell he was winning this debate.

“He’s like family to me. Of course he’ll want to meet you. And you can meet the team, if you want. Come on, I know you want to come. Please?”

Zhenya rolled his eyes. “You knot-crazy. Have I told you this?”

Sid smiled. “Is that a yes?”

* * *

Pittsburgh was a much more intimidating city than Cole Harbour. It was bigger, and there wasn’t a soul that didn’t know and love Sidney Crosby. Even the flight from Halifax was a nightmare, with everyone from their fellow passengers to the flight attendants wanting Sid’s autograph. Sid never declined, and Zhenya didn’t know where he found the patience.

When all of the fans returned to their seats, Zhenya said, “Sid, I’m think that guy ask for autograph twice. Why you sign?”

Sid sighed. “I know that some people ask for autographs to sell them later, okay? But most of them are going to take those home and show them to their kids. It wouldn’t do any good for me to make a scene every time I run into an autograph hound.”

Zhenya nodded, conceding to Sid’s logic. “Okay, but you better person than me.”

“Well, we already knew that.” He stuck his tongue out at Zhenya playfully. 

“My alpha is a child.”

Sid blushed and looked pleased, and Zhenya was bemused by his reaction until he realized what he had said. “Oh, Sid, I—”

He didn’t know what to say. The were in a plane full of people. It wasn’t exactly the time for confessions.

Sid just smiled and subtly took his hand.

  


The first day of training camp arrived quickly, and Zhenya was a ball of nerves. Sid had promised to introduce him to his teammates, but Zhenya was a bit too wary of the prospect of being surrounded by alphas to be excited. When he was a young player, these men would have been his idols and his peers. But, throughout his adult life, hockey players had been his betters. At best, they had treated him as a nameless servant, and at worst, they had been his tormentors. He had not stood among athletes as an equal in over ten years, and considering his dynamic, there was no guarantee that these alphas would see him as an equal, even with an endorsement from Sid. 

He stood in front of Sid’s floor-length mirror, agonizing over his reflection. Dressing his body for alphas' approval had not become any easier since his presentation, and now his appearance reflected on _Sid._ He had to get it right.

He had changed his clothes three times already, debating between tight jeans that showed off his muscular thighs and loose sweats that hid them. V-neck shirts versus hoodies. In his mind’s eye, he measured the soles of his sneakers. Were they too tall? He was no delicate omega, but he didn’t have to accentuate his size either. He ran a hand over his jaw. Should he shave again? There was maybe the barest patch of stubble.

“Zhenya.”

The omega jumped. He hadn’t noticed Sid behind him. The alpha was sitting on the bed, tying his shoes and watching Zhenya. He had a smirk on his face, but it wasn’t unkind.

“You’re overthinking this.”

Zhenya threw his hands up in exasperation. “I’m not overthink. I get mistaken for Jonathan Drouin few months ago. You want team think I’m alpha?”

Sid sighed. “I don’t know why you would care what they think. Just wear what makes you comfortable.” He stood from the bed, pacing over to Zhenya to drop a kiss on his cheek. “I probably have a jersey around here somewhere if you want to be a proper fan.” Sid started toward the bathroom, probably to brush his teeth, but he didn’t leave without landing a playful slap to Zhenya’s behind. Zhenya blushed. It was such a locker-room move, but from Sid, it felt nothing like a smack from a teammate.

“Oh, you have Letang jersey? He hottest alpha on team.”

Sid laughed and call from the bathroom, “Fuck you! Just wear a hoodie. See if I care.”

Zhenya walked to Sid’s dresser, selected one of the alpha’s many Penguins hoodies, and pulled it over his head. It was a little short in the sleeves, but it had “87” printed on the back and, despite being clean, retained some of the alpha’s comforting, woodsy scent.

Zhenya joined Sid in the bathroom to brush his teeth, but he spotted the tube containing his topical scent blockers sitting on the vanity. He knew what he would normally do in this situation, before meeting a dozen or more alphas. He would cover himself in blockers, obsessively rubbing the ointment into his skin, from head to toe. He could tell that Sid was biting his tongue, tempted to tell Zhenya to leave it on the counter but understanding that the decision was ultimately the omega's to make.

He left it, going for his toothbrush instead. He would almost certainly feel more comfortable with the scent blockers on, especially around so many alphas, but he needed everything in his arsenal to prove that he was an attractive omega. His scent was his most valuable commodity.

“I’m not wear them, Sid. I’m not worried.”

“I’m glad. They’re good guys. They wouldn’t do anything.”

Sid was sweet, if a little naïve. These were his friends. Of course he believed they were _good guys_ , and Zhenya wasn’t about to disillusion him. 

“I know, Sid. Like I say, I’m not worried.”

  


Zhenya watched from the stands as the Penguins team filed out of the dressing room and onto the ice. They were dressed in two colors, clearly ready for an intra-squad scrimmage. Sid, whose body was so easy to spot on the ice with his his smooth strides, was dressed in black, so Zhenya knew which team to support.

He was seated near the ice, as far as he could reasonably manage from the two-dozen or so women who had also come to watch the scrimmage. They were dressed to the nines, and their makeup was flawless, though some of them had “87” or “58” written in eyeliner on their cheeks, clearly supporting their favorite players. They were loudly appreciative of the team, whistling to the players from across the ice as they conducted their warmups. The players responded in kind, with waves to the crowd. 

Zhenya, in his lanky body, felt wildly out-of-place next to these gorgeous women. He tried not to pay too much attention to them, focusing his eyes on Sid’s superstitious warmup routine. Sid finally spotted him and skated over to the glass, eliciting squeals from his fans. He corralled a puck and flipped it over the glass and into Zhenya’s hands before winking and skating away. The omega’s heart stopped for a second as jealous glances rained down on him, but he couldn’t help but smile.

The scrimmage was surprisingly exciting. Two of the young players even fought, which had the coach shaking his head dramatically from the bench. The practice ended with some special teams work-- _Seriously, why wouldn’t Sid shoot the puck on the power play?_ \--before the players made their way back down the tunnel.

Zhenya felt a buzzing in his pocket, and he pulled out his phone to reveal a text from Sid.

_Come to the room. I can introduce you to the guys._

At first, Zhenya was surprised to be invited to an alphas’ dressing room, but Sid sent a follow-up text immediately.

_Don’t worry. The media’s here. No one is naked._

Zhenya snorted. His alpha was a dork. He pocketed his phone and then used his instincts and years of experience in foreign hockey rinks to find the locker room. The team was so loud that he could hear their antics from down the hall. The exhilaration of training camp was infectious. Everyone from the prospects just fighting to make the team all the way to veterans like Sid were anxious to start the season.

Zhenya sent a quick text. _I’m here._

Sid came out to collect him. He had taken his chest protector off, but he was still waddling around in his hockey pants. He almost leaned in for a hug but then looked down at his sweat-soaked Under Armour and thought better of it. 

“Hey! Come on in. Just steer clear of the cameras and microphones.”

Zhenya followed him. “What media want on first day? Nothing exciting happen yet.”

"Except the rookie fight, right?" Sid asked. "This is actually our own media team. They're doing some video series to make us more _relatable_." Sid sounded personally aggrieved by the whole process.

"And they don't want to talk to Sidney Crosby?"

Sid groaned. “I wish. I’ve already answered some questions.”

The dressing room at this training rink was one of the better rooms that Zhenya had seen in his life, even with his years of experience with KHL teams. The NHL had real money. There was an ongoing interview in one corner, and the brunette behind the camera immediately spotted him, her laser-like eyes flashing rapidly between him and Sid. Sid didn’t seem to notice, and he led Zhenya to a cluster of half-dressed team veterans that the omega recognized from television as Fleury, Kunitz, and Letang. Fleury flashed a blinding smile at him. Kunitz spoke first.

“I don’t think we’ve met. Chris Kunitz.” He extended a hand toward Zhenya, who stared at it, baffled.

Flower rolled his eyes so dramatically that it looked painful. He put his whole body into it.

“Kuni, you idiot, can you not tell an omega when you smell one? That’s not a prospect. That’s the boyfriend,” Flower said, “Sid just told you he would be introducing you to his omega _fifteen minutes ago_. Did you somehow forget about that?”

Kunitz looked like he had swallowed his tongue. His eyes bugged out, and he kept trying to speak but seemed to choke on every word. Finally, he managed to say, “ _That’s_ Geno?” 

_Geno?_ Zhenya flashed a glance to Sid for clarification, but the alpha just groaned. 

“I thought I vetoed that nickname!”

Kunitz was growing increasingly red-faced, clearly embarrassed at his faux pas. 

“But, Sid…You never said…It’s just that…Well, he’s taller than you!”

It was obviously time for Zhenya to step in and rescue this poor, floundering alpha. Chris Kunitz wasn’t the first to mistake him for an alpha, and he wouldn’t be the last. He couldn’t exactly hold it against him. Sid had made the same blunder, although he could justify the mistake, considering that Zhenya had been drenched in scent blockers.

“Of course Sid not say. All Sid’s omegas taller than him,” he joked.

Sid reacted with mock outrage, swatting at Zhenya’s shoulder.

The joke seemed to work. Chirping Sid for his height was clearly familiar ground for his teammates. 

Letang, who had been watching Kunitz’s struggles in amusement, interjected, “Geno, did you know Sid’s stats say he’s five-eleven?”

_Seriously? Geno?_ It appeared that he had gained a hockey nickname, and an ugly one at that.

“Maybe five-eleven if not so bow-legged.” The boys laughed, and Zhenya received another swat from Sid. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Sid said, “I get it. I’m short. Guys, this is Zhenya. Zhenya, this is Kris Letang, Chris Kunitz, and Marc-Andre Fleury.” He pointed at each as he introduced them, like Zhenya didn’t follow hockey and know their faces well.

Fleury seemed eager to move past the awkward introductions. “So, Geno, how did you like the scrimmage?” He was still smiling, but it felt like a test.

“It was good.” He grinned at Sid. “Sid forget how to backcheck, but just first day, so I’m forgive him.” 

Fleury looked pleased at the trash talk, nodding in agreement, but Letang looked taken-aback.

“Sid’s the best player in the league. He just won three trophies a month ago.”

Zhenya nodded, all false seriousness. “I know, but not Selke. Huge defensive hole in his game.”

Sid, who had heard all of these chirps before, played along. “Oh, are you a Bergeron fan now?”

“Great two-hundred-foot player, Sid. Go Bruins.” His tone was completely flat, but he couldn’t keep a straight face. Sid leaned up on tiptoe to kiss the smirk off his lips. It was a quick peck, but Zhenya blushed anyway at the public display.

It felt like every eye in the room was suddenly trained on them. A few of the rookies looked scandalized, apparently believing the rumors that their idol was a sexless hockey android. 

Fleury broke the silence. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Geno. I’m glad Sid found someone to keep his ego in check.”

“Very nice to meet all of you. I see you later, Sid?” Sid nodded, and Zhenya ducked out of the room, leaving the team to shower and change into their street clothes.

He began walking down the hallway, but he was stopped abruptly by a small hand on his arm. He turned around to see the same brunette who had been overseeing the players' interviews. She had a bright smile, but something about her eyes said she was all business.

“Hi! I’m Jen. I’m the communications director for the Penguins, and I just wanted to introduce myself. I don’t think Sid has mentioned you before.”

_Oh. Sid was in trouble._

“I’m Evgeni. I’m seeing Sid a few months now. Nothing to report to media.”

She smiled tightly, with her lips pursed. “Right. Well, I’ll be handling any publicity surrounding you guys, so if you need anything, let me know.” She slid a business card into his palm. “Just let Sid know that it’s never the wrong time to talk to your media liaison, alright?”

He was going to have fun with this. It was hilarious that Sid could get in trouble with anyone in the Penguins organization, let alone with the media relations department.

“Of course, I let him know.”

“Thank you, Evgeni. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been seeing each other?”

“From February. We meet in Sochi.”

Her eye twitched just thinking about the number of scandals that could have happened in eight months. Zhenya had to hold back a laugh at her discomfort.

“Such a long time. How sweet.”

“Yes, we very happy.”

“Great. Well, you won't normally see me around the rink, but my office is always open. Our team reporters handle most of the interviews. I'm just here to make the guys look good, which is easier said than done." She finally reached out to shake his hand. "Anyway, it was great to meet you, and I am sure we’ll be in touch soon! You have my card.” She walked briskly down the hall, her heels clacking with every step.

Sid emerged from the room sometime later, his hair still dripping from the shower.

“Miss me?”

“No, no. Actually have interesting conversation with Jen. She say congratulations on long-term international relationship she have no idea about.”

Sid winced.


	11. Hockey Royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen speculation that Mike Johnston did not last long in his position as head coach because of his strained relationships with some of his players, especially Sidney Crosby. I have no evidence of that, but it gives me an excuse to make him a bit of a villain in this fic. If you really love Mike Johnston, I apologize for making him a bully. If you ARE Mike Johnston, why are you even here?

Zhenya didn’t feel comfortable exploring Pittsburgh alone with his limited grasp of English, and he certainly couldn’t go out with Sid. Sid had always described Pittsburgh as an enthusiastic sports town, but Zhenya hadn’t realized just how much time and energy the local media spent documenting the everyday affairs of the Steel City’s athletes. To avoid the cameras and gossip, he let Sid do all of the shopping and errands on his own, and Zhenya spent a lot of time rattling around in Sid’s giant, empty, beige house. Needless to say, he didn’t miss a single team practice. He was sometimes the only spectator in the freezing-cold rink, but on those days he was even louder in cheering and chirping the boys on the ice, welcoming every opportunity to get out of the house and see human beings other than Sid.

His catalogue of friendly Penguin faces was growing every day as he became a permanent fixture at the practice rink. A few of Sid’s teammates, Patric Hornqvist and Pascal Dupuis, went out of their way to introduce themselves. Hornqvist was a high-energy individual who, despite being Swedish, spoke English faster than most native speakers. Zhenya tried to keep up, but a lot of the man’s exuberant chatter went right over his head. He also rarely wore a shirt around the team or around Zhenya, which felt like a bizarre demonstration of alpha posturing, but was somehow charming all the same. 

Dupuis, who could only have been six or seven years older than Zhenya, had four kids and was seemingly incapable of turning off his paternal instincts. He occasionally brought food to the rink for Zhenya, with the excuse that his wife was worried that Sid couldn’t feed him properly. 

The biggest surprise was Olli Maatta. Zhenya knew that he was coming off a strong rookie season, arguably deserving of the Calder, but otherwise, he hadn’t known what to expect from the kid. The baby defenseman had shyly introduced himself in the hallway, and a wave of alpha pheromones had nearly knocked Zhenya out. Zhenya had tried to explain to Sid later just how powerful the scent was, and Sid had chuckled.

“God, his gear absolutely reeks. Easily the worst on the team.”

Zhenya shook his head. “No, Sid. I’m mean he smell like _alpha._ Maybe stinks to you, but he get any omega he want. For sure.”

Sid looked scandalized. “ _Zhenya._ He’s a _teenager_.”

Zhenya rolled his eyes. “He’s twenty, and I not say I’m try sleep with him, Sid.” 

Of course, not all of Sid’s teammates were enlightened, twenty-first-century alphas. Everyone knew he belonged to Sid, so he didn’t have to suffer any sexual harassment, but he did endure other, more subtle unpleasantries. Some of the team members, especially the youngest ones likely destined for a few seasons in the AHL, outright refused to introduce themselves. Because these were the kids most desperate for a spot on the roster, who couldn’t afford to put a toe out of line, he initially attributed their snubs to timidness. However, he overheard one call him _Sid’s big bitch_ , and he abandoned his charitable attitude. These were _children_ , the kind of immature alphas who propped up their fragile masculinity by tearing down male omegas.

Some of the older players, mostly third- and fourth-liners, seemed personally offended when Sid talked to Zhenya about hockey. Sid would ask his opinion, or Zhenya would practice some amateur coaching by yelling through the glass, and the others would disperse, shaking their heads in dismay. Zhenya didn’t know quite what to think of that. Were they jealous that he had Sid’s ear? Did they think that, because of his dynamic, he wasn’t qualified to offer an opinion? Maybe both.

Brand-new head coach Mike Johnston was similarly unimpressed by Zhenya’s presence. The omega could see things from his perspective. Johnston was trying to gain control of the dressing room, and his best player had invited a distraction into their midst. It wasn’t an ideal situation. Still, it was hard to feel sympathetic toward his plight when he held such obvious disdain for Zhenya. 

For the sake of his relationship with the team captain, Johnston tolerated Zhenya’s presence at training camp. However, that tolerance had limits. When he caught wind that Sid had invited Zhenya into the dressing room on the first day of camp, he had been quick to take Zhenya aside and express his disapproval. He spoke to the omega extremely slowly, like Zhenya’s imperfect English qualified him as a dunce. _I’d like to see him try to speak Russian_.

“Geno, I don’t mind seeing you around the rink sometimes, but never in the locker room, alright? We have a _no wives and girlfriends_ policy for a reason.” He said it with a self-satisfied smirk, clearly thinking it a very clever put-down of Zhenya’s dynamic. Zhenya had been hearing insults of the you’re-a-girl variety for over a decade, so he let it roll off of him. 

“Okay. I’m understand. Locker room is for team only.”

“There’s a good boy.” Johnston gave the omega a condescending pat on the shoulder as he left.

Zhenya didn’t mention the conversation to Sid. If the alpha was going to have any chance at future success, he needed a relationship with his coach that was both civil and based on mutual respect. Zhenya wasn’t going to cost Sid a chance at the Stanley Cup over a minor spat with the head coach. So, he declined any invitations to the dressing room, and Sid soon stopped offering.

  


Once Zhenya had met most of the team, Sid had declared that it was time to schedule a visit with Le Magnifique. Preparing to meet Mario Lemieux gave Zhenya an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Sid insisted that the dinner would be casual, but Zhenya felt the same nerves that had twisted his stomach when he had first met Sid’s parents. 

“What I even call him, Sid?” Zhenya asked on the drive to the Lemieux residence.

For just a moment, Sid looked at him like he had lost his mind. He quickly turned his gaze back to the road.

“Mario?” He suggested tentatively, practically a question.

“I can’t call top-five-all-time player by name his mom gave him. You see Wayne Gretzky, you call him _Wayne_?”

Sid cringed. “No. I don’t know what to tell you. You can’t call him _Mr. Lemieux_ all evening when you’re in his house and eating his food.”

In the end, his nerves weren’t warranted. The Lemieuxs were gracious hosts, clearly taking their roles as unofficial ambassadors for Pittsburgh very seriously. Mario was perhaps even taller than Zhenya, which gave the omega some comfort. He hated towering over alphas. He remembered being thrilled by his growth spurt at fourteen, when he suddenly transformed from the runt to the tallest boy on his team. Then, at sixteen, he went through another transformation, and it felt like the universe had conspired against him.

The introductions went smoothly. Mario shook his hand like he would any new draft pick. He didn’t lean in for a hug to try to catch Zhenya’s scent, which was a pet peeve of the omega’s. The feeling of a strange alpha’s breath on his neck always made him want to jump out of his skin. 

Nathalie was obviously less nervous than Sid’s mom had been for their first meeting, making a reasonable amount of food rather than a feast. Zhenya had raised his eyebrow in confusion when he saw only four table settings, and she had picked up on the silent question right away.

“Oh, the kids won’t be joining us. The older ones have moved out, and even the youngest seems to be out of the house most of the time.”

Sid joked, “What? They didn’t want to see me?”

“The novelty of Sid the Kid has worn off,” she replied. She turned to Zhenya. “Alexa says Sid is boring.”

“I’m not disagree,” he said, winking at Sid.

The conversation quickly turned to their summer in Nova Scotia. Mario seemed intrigued that Zhenya was Sid’s chosen training partner.

“Can you keep up with him out there? I know I couldn’t,” Mario said self-deprecatingly.

Zhenya was about to demur, reluctant to talk about his own hockey skills with two of the best in the sport. But, Sid had already pulled out his phone and was showing Mario some videos they had taken together, illustrating Zhenya’s progress at improving his shot. Nathalie was looking at the ceiling, the picture of a woman who’d had many meals interrupted by hockey talk.

Sid was, as usual, gushing. “We had a few goalies from the Halifax Mooseheads join us for a workout, and they didn’t have a chance. Look at that backhand.” 

Mario was nodding in appreciation, and Nathalie was still asking the ceiling for patience.

Zhenya tried to save her. “Nathalie, I’m wonder if you have good stories about Sid from rookie days.”

Sid’s phone was back in his pocket in the blink of an eye, and he sat ramrod-straight in his chair, ready to defend himself. _Mission accomplished._

The meal seemed to pass quickly. The Lemieuxs shared a few mildly embarrassing stories about Sid’s early experiences with hangovers. Mario asked some questions about Zhenya’s past, and the omega tried to keep his answers vague and relatively upbeat. The end of his hockey career was _a difficult transition_ rather than life-ruining. His job with Metallurg Magnitogorsk was _a little dull_ rather than deeply unsatisfying. Sid’s face looked pinched, the muscles tight in his jaw, but Zhenya didn’t feel that he was lying. He was being a good guest, keeping the dinner conversation from becoming too heavy. 

When the meal ended, Sid showed off his Canadian manners and volunteered to help Nathalie with the dishes. Zhenya tried to follow suit, but Mario gestured for him to remain seated. When the others had retreated to the kitchen, Mario fixed Zhenya with a serious look, the superficial smile of a good host slipping from his face. 

“Sid has told me about your situation.” From his tone, the omega was reminded that, as much as Sid treated Mario like a second father figure, this alpha was a businessman.

“Is not fun dinner conversation.”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t. But you boys need a plan. Are you really going back to Magnitogorsk at the start of the season? You think you can beg your parents to take you back? What about college in Russia? How competitive would your application be?”

Zhenya knew that both of those avenues were unlikely. His parents had moved on from him, and he had the academic record typical of a boy expecting to be a professional athlete. His secondary school transcripts were appalling, showing a student of very little promise. He would never be admitted to college at his age, especially since most colleges in Russia had only recently begun accepting male omegas. 

Zhenya narrowed his eyes at the alpha, who had clearly given this a lot of thought. “I figure it out when I’m back in Russia.”

Mario placed his hands flat on the table, his eyes imploring Zhenya to listen. “No you won’t. You’re not going back to Russia to wind up homeless and jobless. How many employers hire male omegas? How many landlords rent to them?”

Mario’s words were threatening to wound Zhenya’s pride. “I’m work for ten years, I find another job.” 

“I’m not saying it would be impossible. I’m saying that you will be safer and happier in America.”

Zhenya was growing annoyed. “You tell immigration that. I’m sure ICE interested to know unskilled Russian plan on live here forever.”

“Oh, I will handle immigration. I’m going to offer you a job in the Penguins organization, with the coaching staff. It won’t be anything special, and you won’t have a title. You’ll be an assistant’s assistant. You don’t have the credentials for me to offer anything better.” Mario wasn’t trying to insult him. His tone was realistic, not cruel. “The Penguins will sponsor your visa. Problem solved.”

Zhenya leaned back in his chair, shocked. 

“I can’t ask that. This is not…it’s not right you just _give_ —"

Mario nodded, seeming to understand. “Yes, it’s charity. I won’t pretend it’s anything else. And it’s nepotism because if you were anyone else with the same set of skills, you would never even get an interview. But you should still take the job.”

“But…why?”

“It seems to me that you’re stranded in America and dependent on an alpha that you’re sleeping with.” Zhenya almost winced to hear it put so bluntly, but Mario wasn’t wrong. “That’s a dangerous situation. What if, in a month, Sid decides he can’t bear to see you leave, and he asks you to mate with him to get a green card? He loves you—” Mario noticed Zhenya startle and paused before continuing, “—Oh, he loves you. That much is obvious, even if he hasn’t told you yet. He’d be asking you to mate with him because he cares about you, but he wouldn’t be thinking about the kind of pressure that puts on you. How are you supposed to say no, when the other option is starving in Magnitogorsk?”

Zhenya nodded, but he stayed quiet. 

“So, take the job, put every dime of your salary in a savings account, and work on becoming financially independent from Sid. Then, you two can decide when to move forward with mating. If that’s a few months from now or a few years from now, it will at least have been your choice.” 

“Sid ask you do this?”

Mario shook his head. “He has no idea. This is between you and me.”

Zhenya took a moment to think it over. It was a good plan. It helped eliminate some of the power imbalances in his relationship that he preferred not to think about. Sid could finally be just his lover, not his savior. But, it wasn’t a perfect plan. Zhenya saw one flaw, which he raised.

“Is good I not depend on Sid, but I’m still owe debt to alpha. I’m still owe _you_. What you want from this deal?” It was never a good idea to let an alpha get the upper hand, even if they seemed to have benevolent motives.

Mario wasn’t offended, seemingly expecting that question. “You’re right that I’m not being totally selfless. I’ll admit to that. Sid is like an adopted son to me, like the fifth child I never expected to have. I don’t want to see him lose the best relationship of his life because he rushed it.”

“So you do as favor to Sid?”

Mario nodded, his hands finally coming off the table and then falling into his lap. He’d said his piece, and he was waiting for Zhenya’s answer.

“Okay. I’m do it.”

Sid and Nathalie chose that moment to return, and Sid looked curious.

“You’ll do what?”

Zhenya was dumbstruck, but Mario had a plan for everything. He pasted another bright smile on his face and said smoothly, “Oh, I just suggested that Evgeni should join the team for an optional skate one of these days. Show off his skills.”

It sounded innocent, but the look in Mario’s eye as he turned to Zhenya said: _There’s your job interview, kid. Don’t mess it up._

Sid was thrilled. “That’s a great idea! I want to see if he can score on Flower.” 

Zhenya smiled weakly at Sid’s enthusiasm, but his own nerves were building. “I’m do it, but I’m just worry that Coach Johnston not like it.” He spoke directly to Mario, trying to convey with his tone that he meant more than just a single optional practice. Coach Johnston would not like Zhenya on the coaching staff. Coach Johnston _did not like Zhenya at all_.

Mario shrugged. “I will speak with him.”

The matter was settled.


	12. Never Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and the relatively short chapter! Real life has been getting in the way recently. Updates will probably remain sporadic for a while.

Normally, the team’s ranks dwindled on optional days, but word had spread that Zhenya would be joining the team for practice, and the locker room was packed with curious Penguins. Sid had been talking up the omega’s abilities for weeks, and his teammates had always responded with vague nods of assent. So, Sid was surprised and dismayed to find that their general curiosity was laced with skepticism. In fact, most of them seemed to think that Zhenya would be amateurish at best. 

Tanger had always been a good friend to Sid, but he had all the arrogance of a man who had only ever lived a charmed existence, being told that he was a handsome, talented, full-blooded alpha male. 

“I don’t get it Sid. It’s cute that he likes to work out with you, but you don’t see me inviting Catherine to a real practice. Can’t it wait for family skate?” he said. 

Sid was peeved, but he swallowed a few snide rejoinders, knowing that Zhenya’s hockey would speak for itself. Instead, he replied calmly, “Don’t let him hear you call him _cute_. I promise that he’s as serious about hockey as any of you. I’m sure he’ll be happy to come to family skates and play with Alex and the other kids, but today he’ll be trying to put a puck through your head.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sid noticed that Dupuis was quietly putting on sock tape, looking anxious.

“What is it, Duper? You think he shouldn’t play?”

Duper grimaced, unhappy to be put on the spot. “No, that’s not it. I just…there’s a reason they can’t play in the NHL, right? What if we hurt him?” He said it with such genuine concern that Sid couldn’t even be mad about how terribly condescending it was. Duper really believed Zhenya was fragile.

_Oh, for God’s sake. Is this what Zhenya deals with every day?_ “Are you serious? He’ll be the biggest man on the ice.” 

Ironically, Duper looked a little offended. “That’s no excuse to hit an omega, Sid.”

Sid could feel himself losing his mind, but, thankfully, Flower stepped in to be a voice of reason. “Boys, if Sid says Geno can play, then he can play. If anyone should be nervous, it’s me. Right, Sid?”

Sid gave the goalie an appreciative tap on the pads before leaving the locker room. 

When he stepped onto the ice, the practice rink was largely empty. He took a few laps to warm his muscles. From the corner of his eye, he was intrigued to see Mario huddled in conversation with the head coach. As team owner, Mario almost never attended practice, but Sid supposed that he, like everyone else, was driven by curiosity. Johnston looked annoyed, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. After a few moments, it was clear that the coach had lost the argument, and he waved a hand dismissively at Mario, as if to say _Alright. You win._ Mario retreated, apparently unfazed, and took a seat in the stands.

“Sid.” The alpha, caught up in watching his bosses’ little disagreement, nearly jumped as Zhenya skated up beside him. Since the rink lacked facilities for male omegas-- _typical_ \--Zhenya had put on his gear in a bathroom adjacent to the dressing room. Sid had almost asked the equipment staff to set up some privacy screens in the main dressing room so that Zhenya could join the team, but in the end he had decided that it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. After all, the omega had refused to go anywhere near the dressing room for weeks, and Sid wanted to respect Zhenya’s wishes. 

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“Of course, you too focused on hockey. Is just like media say. Sidney Crosby always the first man on the ice.” Zhenya’s eyes glinted as he teased Sid, clearly pleased with himself. Sid didn’t have the heart to tell him that his first-man-on, last-man-off reputation was greatly exaggerated. Normally, the rest of the team would have joined him quickly. They were obviously dragging their feet in the locker room, not wanting to be the first to welcome Zhenya.

“It’s easy to be the first man on the ice. The guys haven’t even really woken up yet, you’ll see. How about you? You feel ready?” 

“Sure. I look ready, yes?” Zhenya gestured to himself.

Sid had a ridiculous moment of alpha pride from seeing the omega in his gear, all expensive and custom-fitted at the Sid’s insistence. Zhenya, naturally a very frugal person, had balked at the price of new equipment. However, Sid had been wielding the pocketbook, and Zhenya had acquiesced, with just a weak protest: _Is not fair! You use puppy eyes on me so can’t say no._

“You certainly look like a professional.” More than that, he even _smelled_ like a professional. Sid hadn’t expected that the omega would douse himself in scent blockers, but his normal scent was gone, replaced with one that was chemical and _wrong_. It was the same scent he had been sporting when they met in Sochi, and with it, he would be practically indistinguishable from Sid’s teammates. Sid hated it instinctually, but if it made Zhenya feel more comfortable, the alpha couldn’t exactly complain. 

Eventually, the rest of the team trickled out from the locker room. A few players greeted Zhenya awkwardly with a wave. Others just shot furtive glances at him, their expressions ranging from confusion to annoyance. Sid chalked it up to jealousy. Zhenya was the tallest man on the ice, cutting the most imposing figure among them. 

Johnston urged them to gather at center ice, his eyes still cold from his earlier argument. Sid wondered if he should ask Mario the subject of their disagreement. Johnston had only recently taken over the head coaching job, and it wasn’t a good sign if his relationship with the owner was already strained. In the end, Sid decided that it was above his paygrade, even as the star player.

“Alright, gentlemen. We’re drilling two-on-ones and breakaways today.” 

_Excellent. Those play right to Zhenya’s strengths._ Just as that thought crossed Sid’s mind, Johnston looked pointedly at the omega. 

“You’ll notice we have a new face among us today. We’re glad to have you, Geno, but I’m going to insist on a no-contact jersey.”

Duper looked relieved, and Zhenya nodded stiffly at the request, but Sid felt the need to speak up.

“Coach, I don’t see how that’s necessary. We played full-contact all summer.” There was some tittering from the team, and some jackass actually whispered _kinky_. Sid, kicking himself for the accidental double-entendre, vowed to identify the idiot later and to make life very difficult for him.

“It’s just a precaution, Sid. We don’t want to run into any liability issues.” His tone was almost bored. He raised his hand to toss a no-contact jersey to Zhenya, who caught it easily. Sid hadn’t even noticed it in Johnston’s hand.

“Alright, Geno, get changed. We’ve got work to do.”

Sid almost spoke up again, but he stopped himself before he drew more attention to Zhenya. On the surface, there was nothing particularly salacious about the coach’s request. After all, Zhenya was fully clothed under his practice jersey, including a bulky chest protector and shoulder pads. But it still felt wrong, with two-dozen sets of alpha eyes trained on the lone omega as he pulled one jersey over his head and replaced it with another. He moved quickly, but it felt like it took an eternity to Sid. 

Johnston clapped his hands together, apparently satisfied. “That’s more like it. Okay boys, line up. Forwards, get into pairs. Defensemen on this side.” Sid started to move toward Zhenya, but Johnston held up a hand to stop them, seemingly contemplating something. “Sid, you’re with Kuni. Geno can pair up with Hornqvist.”

Considering that the morning was already steeped in awkwardness and tension, the coach’s order felt unnecessarily hostile. It was yet another attempt to unbalance Zhenya, who already found himself on thin ice, encroaching on an alpha-dominated space. Sid, having anticipated a warmer welcome for Zhenya, felt stupid and naïve. At the same time, he felt trapped. How could he call out his brand-new coach for passive aggressiveness, especially when it was so subtle?

Zhenya, well-versed in alpha posturing, shrugged indifferently and skated toward Horny, who greeted him with a fist bump. The Swede was a new acquisition to the team, and Sid didn’t know exactly what to expect from him. Even after nearly ten seasons in the NHL, Sid had no clue about European attitudes toward male omegas. It was an embarrassing blind spot. Would Hornqvist be as prejudiced as Zhenya’s parents? He had a league-wide reputation for good character, and Sid hoped he lived up to it. Finding no way to stall the proceedings any longer, Sid grabbed a puck and led the drill.

He shouldn’t have worried, either about Zhenya’s hockey or his ability to get along with Hornqvist. Truthfully, Coach Johnston could not have come up with a better set of drills to showcase Zhenya’s talents. He had an uncanny ability to dance his way past the lone defenseman even when it looked impossible, apparently through sheer force of will. After that, it was just a matter of snapping a pass to Horny, who threw the puck on net. Flower was in rare form, stopping nearly everything that came his way, but Zhenya and Horny produced the most high-quality chances out of any pair, besides Sid and Kuni. On one drill, Zhenya pulled off a particularly nice move, sending the puck through poor Olli’s legs and then passing it right to Horny’s tape. Horny buried it and then celebrated like they had won in double overtime, jumping into Zhenya’s arms and screaming like a madman.

The breakaway drills were even more impressive, showcasing Zhenya’s shot. He had worked tirelessly over the summer to raise the puck, until he could finally pick the top corners of the net consistently. He put a couple of snipes past Flower, and Sid was amused to see a few jaws drop. Tanger drifted over to Sid, looking sheepish.

“Your boy can really play.”

_I told you so._ “Yeah, he’s the real deal. He played until he was sixteen. He was looking forward to a career in the KHL, at the very least.”

Tanger gave him a sidelong glance, skeptical. “He thought they’d let an omega play in the KHL?”

_Crap._ “Well, he didn’t know he was an omega then. He presented late. That’s between you and me, okay? It’s not really any of your business.”

Tanger nodded, but there was something like pity on his face. “That sucks. I mean—not that it sucks to be an omega!”

“I know what you mean. It sucks.”

Just then, Zhenya got another great chance, stopped only by a late poke-check from a very patient Flower. 

“You’re not scoring, Geno!” His pronouncement was followed by a long string of Russian profanities, but Zhenya was smiling. 

His point proven in front of a few dozen alphas, Zhenya started to loosen up a little. Johnston eventually shifted the practice to focus on special teams, setting up some offensive-zone scrimmages. Sid found himself battling Zhenya for the puck, and Zhenya, sensing defeat, purposefully tripped Sid behind the net. He casually passed the puck along the boards to Letang at the blue line and smiled beatifically down at Sid. 

“That is how you forecheck, Sid.”

“Bullshit. Your stick was in my skate!”

“You dive, Sid. You always dive.”

“I’ll show you a fucking dive.” He grabbed Zhenya’s wrist and dragged him down to the ice, simultaneously jumping back to his own feet.

Zhenya looked up at him with mock outrage. “How you do this to me, alpha? Is roughing! You know you shouldn’t take bad penalty even in practice. You make bad habit. _And_ I wear no-contact jersey. Should be ashamed of yourself.”

Sid snorted and extended a hand to help the omega back onto his skates. The play around them had stopped, everyone preferring instead to watch their scuffle. A few of the guys looked very confused, with Duper in particular looking at Sid like he had grown a second head. Apparently, their method of flirting through exchanging egregious penalties was an unusual one, but Sid wasn’t about to feel self-conscious. A few other players looked amused, and Flower had turned around in his crease, urging them on. 

“Yeah, Geno, now slash him! We all want to, but we’re not allowed,” he joked.

Johnston's whistle sounded, and he called out, “No, I think that’s enough for today. Good work. Everyone hit the showers.”

As the team walked single-file to the locker room, Zhenya separated himself from the pack, headed to the bathroom instead. From over his shoulder, Sid could see Olli approach the omega. Considering that Zhenya had embarrassed the defenseman in their drills, Sid was anxious that the kid might hold a grudge. He tamped down his own protective instincts, letting Zhenya fight his own battles.

Sid watched as they exchanged a few words and then Zhenya smiled brilliantly, taking off his glove to give Olli a pat on the cheek. Olli’s entire body flushed pink at the attention.

After they returned home, Sid asked Zhenya about his exchange with Olli.

“I saw him follow you off the ice. What did he ask you?”

Zhenya grinned. “Why, Sid? You jealous of the baby alpha? Don’t worry, he not flirt with me. Very professional.”

“I just thought he might give you a hard time for practice today.”

Zhenya shook his head. “No, was the opposite. He tell me I look like Mario out there.”

“Oh, so he _was_ flirting with you,” Sid joked.

“Shut up, he just being nice. His parents raise him right.”

“Sure, sure.”

  


Although Zhenya’s impressive showing at the optional skate seemed to silence most of the critics on the team, Sid still worried that he might have to approach Mike Johnston about his antagonistic behavior. To his great surprise, the issue seemed to resolve itself. About a week after the practice, Zhenya received a call from Johnston offering the omega a minor position on the coaching staff. In celebration, Zhenya cooked a meal of classic Russian dishes, accompanied by too much wine. It was extremely convenient, but as he watched their immigration troubles vanish and their future together crystallize in front of them, Sid couldn’t bring himself to question it. _Never look a gift horse in the mouth._


End file.
